Prose before hos

I've never had a visceral reaction as bad as I did this evening; my friends sat down and went over in circles, "Kothey, Chicken 65, Rice Beer...and?" And, I burst out crying. 

"I'm really fucking sad, I'm PMSing," I said while being really overwhelmed. Truth be told, I was more upset about no reception and that I'm on my fifth consecutive week without meeting the boy. There is relationship drama, there are arguments and fights, all without the pulp of the relationship. My sister used me as a crux, earlier today, to advance a line of thought with my parents on some parental boundary she is intending to cross. "If she can do it, why can't I?"

Truth is, I've done nothing with nobody. I've just wasted my time, man. 

I was crying because I didn't have it in me to make another decision. My phone managed to catch a bar and I got two images for two different cakes, with a "this" or "that" question. Once again, in the span of 15 minutes, my expertise was solicited, on an issue where I didn't know any better than those asking me. 

"I thought you hated answering these or making these decisions" my friend (who cannot be named) emphasised this earlier today when I said how I'm the go-to person for everyone on food picking during dinners outside. She's always seen through me, even when I try my best to give a hazy version of the truth. Perhaps that's why I love hanging out with her. She sees through me and calls me out. "No..." I kept at it except she reminded me how I told her I hate it even the last time we hung out, which was not too long ago. "I do it so I don't get fed badly and the only thing worse than bad food is being picked for you."

That's why I'm trusted. 

PMS, man, how is it still fucking bothering me so many years into living with it? I feel like my whole life is falling apart minute by minute. A friend quit her job and told me about it today and for the first time in days I felt alive. I came back to life hearing about it from her, how she was wronged, how terribly they treated her and she finally took things in her hands and walked out. The walk of liberation is like music to my ears. I woke up at 7 am today and kept tossing in my bed. Do I need to quit? Do I need to walk out of this thing? Is it my job? Is it him? Is it me? I've been ghosting everyone. I need to see my therapist but I am ghosting her too. Truth be told, she's ghosting me as well. We are all ghosting each other. 

A few days back, the guy and I ghosted each other. In all fairness, we've been having solid issues. If I could put a finger to it, I'd scratch and tell you exactly why. Except, in my PMS addled brain, I keep scratching and the pain keeps increasing. He keeps telling me, "You think the worst about me" and I've heard six different iterations of the same line, which fall between the spectrum of "dopey-cute" description of my batshit behaviour to straight up all caps line of questioning "ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH?", "NO I DO NOT DRINK OR SMOKE YOU KNOW THAT", "Except when you're in Bangkok". He knows me, shit. 

I don't know him. I told him we are penpals but he doesn't do much writing. He doesn't do any remembering either so he's a safe vault for secrets. I have told him about the man who broke my heart over three times and he swears he's never heard of this guy. He doesn't remember my house, nor the street on which I live. He only remembers my wrath and how I think the worst of him. He thinks it's strange that I know nothing about him. Even when I ask him, he doesn't answer and keeps it vague and yet he thinks I'm thinking the worst of him and "it's like you don't know me". It's your job to tell me, but you won't so how would I ever keep up? I feel he hates me. This morning I kept tossing under the fan. Maybe he really dislikes me, there's no other reason why he wouldn't see me. It's a little bit like my ex. You want to keep me around for my benefits because my concept is great but my execution is now something you want to sign up. 

Earlier today, I saw three kids (aged 7-8), walk on her arms and feet, like crawl on the road and run towards us while there was a power-cut and we were looking to get seated to eat. These kids legitimately frightened us with the Exorcism style movement and no electricity didn't help either. In darkness, shadows appear terrifying than the sense of reality and I think I have been feeling a sense of dread, gloom and sadness because I don't know any better. I know nothing about this man. He doesn't see me nor tells me and when I ask questions he gets mad at me. It's like watching kids walk on their arms. You don't know what's coming and as much as I trust him, I feel the safety net shifting. 

"Do you want this to be serious?"

"I just want us to sleep with each other."

I happen to tell my dad during lunch today,

"I don't think we've spent so much time together since I was born."

A couple of hours later, my sister delivered the sermon to me: stay in your room and don't talk to people if you're going to hurt them.

Truth hurts, apparently.

My dad and I have a relationship where he's a secondary parent. Primary is my mom, who happens to occupy a more central role in my life. From academic to personal shit, she's been, my go-to person. I get it, why. The family histories for most people are complex and sensitive. I'm no different. My dad and I have a relationship, odd one at that. He's a man of few words and more actions. Genetically, he's passed a lot of that repressing bit to me. Neither of us talks about emotions or deal with them. We relate on a more superficial, interest-based interaction. That's possibly another reason I don't often bring him up in conversations, in writing or life.

If he were a friend, he'd be the kind I'd be hanging out within a large group with others who I'm close to and connect better with. He'd be a part of the group, much like me. We'd wish each other birthdays, hang socially, make plans to meet and play a game or two. Talk about sports, talk about politics and part ways. My mom, on the other hand, would definitely be the friend I'd talk a lot to and then argue over difficult conversations. Someone who calls me out on my shit a lot more than a regular friend. My dad and I? Not as much. I wouldn't take him seriously. It's a very peculiar family trait, one I've seen pass through generations. Something I was so sure wouldn't happen to me with my dad, but then it did, as I've been observing.

There are only a few times I've seen our relationship translate to that of a father-daughter. It's complicated, but he's been there, for better or for worse. It's also weird that our interactions have been so everyday-business casual that I feel we have grown up to be leading two very diverse lives. His understanding of me and mine is so thinly veiled with an abstraction of patience that tempers are now flying high. His inability to understand his child is apparent. My ability to gauge his bullshit and call him out on stuff is another cue for arguments.

He's been home for about a week now. We have our respective schedules and for close to 16 hours a day, we're in our respective rooms. Of which the remaining 8 hours that we spend in the company of one another, we spend about an hour in a day together, spread between two meals and a cup of tea.

That one hour is the reason why I'm being blamed for his mood swings and his ability to find the worst of the internet on the phone, as my kryptonite around him.

We can barely look at each other's face and we have a minimum of another fortnight to go.

Other relationships are tested as well. The men in the house against one another, the usual suspects when it's my mom and me, and then my sibling and I.

At this point of the other four members of the house, I'm in good terms with one and that's a record.

About a few days ago, my friend Boss Music 911 pointed this out. Families will have trouble, kids will be made, divorces will happen amongst others. People with secret families will have issues, people with spouses will undergo problems and then there's those of us with our families, dealing with them and realizations of how far apart we all are despite having lived together with each other all these years.

I've no wise words, wisecracks or solutions or even an end to this. This is only the beginning of a dystopian reality. One that tests personal relationships more than any television drama, conceivable by the human mind or person has ever reached.