you need to stop

A few minutes ago, finally met with the groggy consequences of sleep deprivation, I zipped up my backpack (who am I kidding? It wasn't open) turned off the lights in my "office" (AKA site of LethargicFest 2011) put in my earphones and cranked up my iTunes Pass of the new Death Cab For Cutie album (5 songs that can be administered at will) (Damn, there are a lot of parentheses in this one sentence.)

I was finally at peace after a long day of school and a long hour of reading the newest issue of Entertainment Weekly (it was a double issue) when I heard my stay-at-home Father, the role he has apparently chosen for today, call me up for dinner.

Except he doesn't call me up for dinner like a normal person. In the most impatient, condescending tone possible he screams, "MEHH-EGG!" down the basement stairs. He says it the first time like it is the 100th time he has nagged me to endure the family dinner. It is enough to make me wanna scream FUCKING SHUT UP at the top of my lungs.

 And honestly, I had a tough time keeping the swear words in my head as I sat down for dinner. Does that ever happen to anyone else? I was thinking these words so loudly I got scared a few had actually slipped out. While reaching for salt with one hand I had to move my other hand to force down the impending middle finger on the salt-grabber.

As I sat there, stewing, I was thinking about how my life is pretty great, comparatively. I shouldn't have a "stewing" hatred for these people; they feed me and clothe me plentifully and they don't hit or neglect me. They can be charming and sweet and generous and yet at the same time, it takes enormous energy for me to not scream at the top of my lungs explosive expletives at their fucking faces.

Whenever my dad delivers what appears to be a rehearsed monologue (because he's the only one talking) of sarcastic quips to whatever action has just occurred at the table, I want to look him right in the eye and say: Listen, Fucker, you need to stop. Just stop.

I need a xanex.