The Whatever Thing

Jan 1, oops, the 2nd, Too hungover on the 1st, lol!

Oh my! What a big blank piece of paper I have here when I could be using that leather-covered expensive whatever thing that Grandma gave me. Where did that thing go? I last saw it under all the Xmas wrapping and kicked over to the side. Did it end up under the couch that Mom later threw out? If so, it is strictly AWOL, and of course, I will promise to transfer everything I am writing here into it, or it will break Grandma’s heart. How many times has Grandma had her heart broken? Darned if I know. Mom gives me the play-by-play, starting with ‘YOU NEED TO CALL HER! And ending with, “You know your Grandma doesn’t have long to live. Stuck in that apartment with a budgie and a cat that hisses all the time. Black cat hates everything. But brings mice home as a gift. With their heads bashed in.

Dead of course. Like whatever. I only wear black myself now. No one ever comments on it like I shouldn’t bother, either.

Jan8th

She called me up. Well, first, she tried texting. But I ignore everything, like usual. Nobody texts me now. Just the way I like it.

Jan whatever

I have to move back home. Yeah, that or living in a group home that looks like an apartment building with so many rules it would drive me insane. If I scream loud enough, Mom will get all shaky and threaten to call 911. So, she’ll leave me alone. She’ll have to!

More Jan whatever

Doing this diary blows! I sit and look out the window. One time, I sat and did absolutely nothing for two hours. Didn’t move. Tried not to breathe. Not so much, anyway. Amazing! Try not eating for a whole day! Then, breathe as little as possible. Listen to nothing. Be nothing. What does it mean to be alive? Does anything mean anything? Really? Why do I even care if anything makes sense?

Whenever

So began the project. In the projects? Nah. Mom makes so much money on top of what she gets from Dad. I walk down the street and see such perfection. Perfect lives with expensive cars. Makes me want to key a few, but everyone has a doorbell cam. I would get caught so fast!

Anyway, about that project. I’m going to interview people about the meaning of life. With my phone. Seen a few of them on YouTube. Thought I’d try it myself. I’ll report back.

I talked to this really cool person first. He was just sitting in the sun on Air Pods with sunglasses and a drink in his hands, relaxing. Smiled at me for no reason, like anything that happens is fine by him.

I’m not good at this. Shaky like Mom when I pop the question. It occurs to me that I’m alone so much that I hardly ever speak. So, the first time I open my mouth, nothing comes out! Here I am, looking like a garbage man, sweaty and not cool, and he really listens to me. Waits for me to get the words out of my mouth.

“What do uh you um think the meaning of life is?”

He takes a big breath and then lets it out like I have asked the only question that could ever matter. “It's all in the moment. If I try to explain it, then I’m doing something for you that you can only do for yourself.”

So profound. I was blown away.

“Thanks, man!” I say, waving as I walk away. It's what I make it. Cool. I go home and spend the rest of the day thinking about it. The project is done. Cool on the first try, no less! Whatever I want is what life is about!

#

But I’m thinking. Damn it! I wish I could just turn off my brain and have a little peace while video gaming for a change! Mom says that I shouldn’t spend 12 hours a day video gaming, but then she buys me all the latest stuff anyway. What can that mean? Buying me off?

She hates what I play. So, it isn’t like she is interested in anything I do. Actually, I almost never see her. My bedroom door is locked nearly all the time. It’s great when she is gone to tell you the truth! I hate seeing her car pulling into the driveway, even when she works 10 or 12-hour days. It’s time to eat, she says. I told her I had already ordered pizza. Or Uber Eats. Or whatever. Can’t stand the stuff she cooks. Healthy stuff? Kale nearly made me barf the one time I tried it. I’m young, still. Why would I have to worry about what I eat?

Like here she is right now at the bottom of the stairs, asking how I’m doing, even as I write this. My meal is ready. I’ll keep quiet until she bangs on the door! Pretend like I’m dead or something! My buddies online said it would make a really cool YouTube video if I recorded her yelling at me, saying she is all worried and stuff. Then she could bang on the door, wondering if I’m still alive…then I suddenly open the door and scare her silly! What a blast that would be! I wonder how many views I could get with a video like that!

#

I gotta restart the project. She called again. I wish I could get her out of my head! I only answered my cell because Grandma died. I’m supposed to go to the funeral. I told Mom I wanted to remember her the way she was. So, I’m not going! Mom was furious. Way worse than usual. I started yelling back to get her to stop, but she got more than just shaky. Didn’t even threaten to call 911. For once, she yelled more than I did. I got quiet and asked her politely to calm down. I had to promise that I would go to the funeral to get her to stop!

Like, I’m really going to go.

#

Missed the funeral. Now, Mom wants me evicted. What, I ask? How can you evict your own son? She says that there are limits to everything and that she has reached her limit over “how I behave.” Like I cause her any real trouble! I keep to myself mostly. She doesn’t have to do a thing for me! She doesn’t have to cook; a maid comes to clean. I can do my own laundry. And it isn’t a question of money. Mom is loaded. Dad even more. Millionaires several times over. In fact, Dad might be worth upwards of a hundred million dollars or more if you count the investments that he doesn’t want to touch.

So anyway I told Mom to pay my rent somewhere else! She said she could not help support my “degenerate lifestyle.” Whatever that means. Am I really going to have to live somewhere and be poor?

She called again, and I answered on the first ring. I was too upset to game or do anything anyway. We had a long talk.

“Contribute,” she said. She kept saying that word repeatedly. Told me that I was a “waste of space.” Said that the truth hurts. That life is hard and you have to work at making a life for yourself. Stuff I had heard before. Stuff my Mom always talked about. Stuff that Dad would have said if he was still around. What was my problem? If I had only one word to describe it, it would be this: Whatever.