You're firmly planted at your computer desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. There was nothing to be looking at. The desktop background of your monitor stares back at you along with all of the unlabeled folders and piece of shit apps you have on here. You have things to do but your body isn't listening.
It's that time of year where a virus decides to run rampant throughout the public school system and wouldn't you fucking know it? Your kid caught it too. He's supposed to be headed off to his little second grade class where he can learn about math and books and other shit required by the state of Texas. There's a routine for this.
The routine has been broken today.
You're not sure if he enjoys missing school either. Dave seemed to like being out of the house. Being away from here. Being away from you. You wonder if it would be more or less of a burden for the kid if you took him with you for these errands. But you can't exactly leave a 7 year old alone at home either.
These swirling thoughts have you trapped in your computer chair.
You have to pay the rent today.
You have to get the oil changed today.
You have to make sure to bring home more food this time since he's not getting the school lunch.
You have to give the neighbor her tools back.
You have to make sure he gets his homework done.
You have to make an effort to watch him on top of your usual work.
You have to make sure he lives.
You have to make sure he lives.
You have to make sure he lives
You have to make sure he lives.
KILL HIM!! KILL BOTH OF YOU!! NOW NOW NOW!!
You pull your shades off to rub your face. Mentally preparing yourself for interacting with other people was draining on its own. The idea of tugging your sick kid along with you is making it that much harder to get your thoughts in order. You need to remember that script. That list of acceptable social cues and interactions to get you through the day is hard to read right now. Try as you might, the words aren't reaching your tongue.
This can't be happening right now. You need to be able to speak today. You need to keep it together. You need to ignore the overwhelming amount of stimuli attacking you all at once. The AC is too cold. The TV is making a stupid hum. The crows outside are loud. Your neighbor next door keeps thumping around. Dave's game in the other room has just enough volume to scratch at your eardrum.
NONE OF THIS IS HELPING YOU PREPARE FOR YOUR RUINED ROUTINE!!!!
You didn't ask for this. You never asked to be a parent, right? You didn't choose this destiny. You can't do this. You can't give this kid what he needs. You can barely give it to yourself! He's already pulling away from you inch by inch.
All of this internal rambling and catastrophizing makes time feel like it's slowed to a near halt. The only thing you've done is sit there and stare endlessly at nothing. You desperately wish you could put some of those pieces in your head in some other form of consciousness. Maybe in a dream. Maybe in some other universe. Anywhere but in this skull of yours. It's like you have an entire party in there and you STILL have not moved a damn inch from your CHAIR.
I didn't ask for this.
I DIDNT ASK FOR THIS!!!
Why am I here? Why am I taking care of him? I could give him to anyone else. I could just leave. I could turn him over to the fucking state. I didn't ask for this.
I CANT DO THIS!!
"Bro?"
A real voice yanks you out of your own head. Your muscles tense and your body perks up on instinct. What a good puppet you are, knowing to turn your head and acknowledge that little kid beside you. He barely reaches your ribcage, yet he's growing like a weed.
"Can you help me with this level?" Dave's question was notably sheepish. He doesn't like asking you for things anymore. You feel guilty for being relieved of that.
"...?" You hold your hand out expectantly and, as predicted, he hands you his Gameboy. The new advanced one that can flip closed. You got him the red one.
"I've been trying-" Dave starts to explain in his little child voice, but stops when he notices you've already started playing. You can feel his eyes on you, darting between your face and the screen. He dare not interrupt your focus. You catch a glimpse of the anticipation and eagerness on his face while you play.
He still thinks you're amazing.
The level is squashed, easy. Obviously. You're kind of fucking awesome at this.
You hand it back without a word.
"Thanks." Dave mumbles.
That social script is still out of commission. You can't form words to respond. To Dave, you simply get up out of your chair and pass by with a quick pat to his little head.
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
titsay
