My family has been in town six hours, two of which I managed to avoid by pretending I had to stay here while they swam at the hotel because the recalcitrant brother was lost and might at any moment call and need directions.
In the time that they’ve been here, we’ve discussed why my house is so dirty, whether my toilets could be cleaner, if I’m doing enough to keep the tub from clogging, why they have to wait for me to do the dishes, whether it’s okay to put Diet Dr Pepper on the laptop, why they have to play shitty video games and can’t they get on the computer instead, whether I’m going to the doctor enough or at all or whether it’s rude for me to refuse to talk to them about it, doesn’t matter, they will explain to the kids how I should be going to the doctor twice a year since I refuse to discuss it, whether I’m overdressed for CiCi’s Pizza, if I have quarters, whether they can take my car down to the Brewhouse, whether they can’t just stay here, if I’m doing enough to prepare just in case I lose my job, whether I’m doing enough to make sure the Butcher gets his act together, whether I’m gaining weight, if I seem to be losing weight in a way that suggests I’m sickly, why I don’t buy the same lightbulbs they do, whether they should bring me their old lightbulbs, if there’s anything to drink in the fridge, why my neighbor’s wife left him, if she was indeed his wife, what Mexican dish has cheese and butter in it, whether you’re supposed to eat the corn husks on tamales, if it’s okay that the littlest nephew only wears muscle shirts, why he can’t sit next to me in the van, and so on.
Emotionally, it’s a little like standing in front of a firehose when someone turns it on. Or like standing on stage and having everyone just hurl whatever they can think to say about you for better or for worse up at you.
It makes me feel just about done with people, let me tell you.
I’m going to bed.