The Wanderer…

This week he has wandered, but only inside the house & garden. He has wandered and contemplated and wandered about some more. Then stopped wandering and questioned everything, then got angry, then depressed, then confused. He’s broken things & repaired things, then got angry because he broke the things in the first place. He’s questioned why he’s angry, why he’s broken things, why he can’t face people outside this week.
We all know the answer is all to do with his Mother phoning him. She has phoned because she is afraid she is dying, afraid that she’s not recovering from the hip replacement in sufficient time to get the other replaced, she hyper focusing on herself but wants to ask him to give her advice when all she wants to do is moan to him how bad she’s feeling while pretending to everyone else she’s ok. She’s duplicitous and anything he tells her she ignores, she has ignored him his whole life.

“I have to do something, Ive just been in the house all week, doing nothing. Living here is doing my head in. I hate feeling like this, my fucking parents make me feel like this, why can’t they just fuck off and leave me alone. I wish they would just go. F@cking Cu%t, f@cking cu%t, f@cking cu%t, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do?”

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