Living with your parents is not completely bereft of benefits.
It's cheap. Easy acces to a washing machine makes laundry a bit less of a chore. It is a comfortable and safe environment.
However, for a man of 24 it's far from ideal.
For one, it makes me feel like a child again. Something that I don't particularly welcome. It also leaves me with a helpless feeling as I watch things happen around me, unable to affect them.
My mother is gradually losing her mind, and that's putting an increasing strain on my father. He, in turn, turns to every old man's eternal companion: the bottle. I can't really blame him.
During my five years at university I was spared watching my mother's degeneration. Now, living in the same house I can't avoid it.
She's completely addicted to these goddamn Facebook games. The various "-villes" and whatever they're called. Every day, all day. I don't know how many times I've tried to talk to her about it. Tried to make her see just how bad this is for her. For the whole family. But like any addict she ignores everything except the source of the addiction.
Her physical condition is deteriorating. She has diabetes and has had a heart-attack. She doesn't take care of her hygiene and never exercises. Any attempt to bring her addiction up ends with her growing incredibly angry and waspish and in general ruining everybody's mood.
I try to talk to her about various things, but she makes less and less sense. She seems stuck in the past, always bringing up things from my childhood. Things only she can remember.
After sticking your hand in a fire enough times you learn to avoid it. So that's what I do.
Then I look at my father, the man who was to carry the burden of the household. I try my best to help him, but he is a proud man. I try to talk to him about his denied addiction, and he gives me the old "he could stop if he wanted". Why not, then? Because he has to live with my mother. Again, I guess I can't struggle to take his one crutch away from him.
I want out.
But I'm also too practically minded to go haring off to some random place without a job. Frittering away my savings on an apartment when I don't have an income.
It does leave me with a fairly clear goal: get a job and get it fast.
It's cheap. Easy acces to a washing machine makes laundry a bit less of a chore. It is a comfortable and safe environment.
However, for a man of 24 it's far from ideal.
For one, it makes me feel like a child again. Something that I don't particularly welcome. It also leaves me with a helpless feeling as I watch things happen around me, unable to affect them.
My mother is gradually losing her mind, and that's putting an increasing strain on my father. He, in turn, turns to every old man's eternal companion: the bottle. I can't really blame him.
During my five years at university I was spared watching my mother's degeneration. Now, living in the same house I can't avoid it.
She's completely addicted to these goddamn Facebook games. The various "-villes" and whatever they're called. Every day, all day. I don't know how many times I've tried to talk to her about it. Tried to make her see just how bad this is for her. For the whole family. But like any addict she ignores everything except the source of the addiction.
Her physical condition is deteriorating. She has diabetes and has had a heart-attack. She doesn't take care of her hygiene and never exercises. Any attempt to bring her addiction up ends with her growing incredibly angry and waspish and in general ruining everybody's mood.
I try to talk to her about various things, but she makes less and less sense. She seems stuck in the past, always bringing up things from my childhood. Things only she can remember.
After sticking your hand in a fire enough times you learn to avoid it. So that's what I do.
Then I look at my father, the man who was to carry the burden of the household. I try my best to help him, but he is a proud man. I try to talk to him about his denied addiction, and he gives me the old "he could stop if he wanted". Why not, then? Because he has to live with my mother. Again, I guess I can't struggle to take his one crutch away from him.
I want out.
But I'm also too practically minded to go haring off to some random place without a job. Frittering away my savings on an apartment when I don't have an income.
It does leave me with a fairly clear goal: get a job and get it fast.