Every day, when the numpty gets home from work, he gets in front of that cursed computer to molly coddle his beloved NZ troll, and that right in front of his wife. Aside from this circus also starting at around 5 in the morning, it gets much worse on weekends not to mention the confabulated family histories and comparative analysis of how bad we are compared to his and her holiness, which in reality scarcely falls short of bipolar delusional. While my parents were never really the loving kind, at most both physically and mentally abusive, I’m inclined to blame that on growing up in a war zone and its subsequent brain and behavioural damages. I was the first born, and as my father put it so quaintly about women, we’re only good for marrying, but irony would have it, I never did. In this part of the world, I’m not alone among those kind of dysfunctional families, so I’ve come to accept my lot in life, appreciating the small pleasures while making improvements wherever they’re feasibly possible. With him it’s an entirely different story. He was my parents golden boy who could do no wrong, and being as my mother was so frontal lobe damaged, it was forced upon me at the age of 8 to be some kind of surrogate mother as my father was seldom there. To make matters worse, the numpty got extreme pleasure in getting me penalized for his misdoings, the epitome of which he almost set the damn apartment on fire. Of course I opposed the beatings vehemently and refused to be housebound, taking every opportunity to escape into the wilds. Unfortunately I was given such a bad rapport by my family, my every flight to freedom was always under public scrutiny, while their own children were getting away with every kind of atrocity on the sly...but I never let that stop me from doing whatever necessary for my own peace of mind. Being dragged half way across the globe and back, there’s not much you can really call home anyway. No community for moral support, no business or property to build upon, let alone inherit. I tried saving up a nest egg, only to end up having to compensate their every mismanagement. Say nothing of the bank card the numpty had secretly acquired to pillage my mother’s account. Needless to say, I wound up penniless with the numpty still on my case. For all the parental blame-shifting he still seems to think he’s above the law, tells people I abused him as child like I was supposed to be his mother, and therefor owe him every kind of financial and emotional support...and just as he finally got over his insolvency, he goes to NZ while still trying to get over pneumonia and winds up in emergency with severe thrombosis. Now he’s 17 grand in arrears for that stunt and still won’t admit that it’s the female hormones he’s secretly taking that caused the whole problem in the first place. He believes a sex change is going solve all his emotional issues. As for the troll, between emotional blackmail and Hepatitis C, I just don’t see what she really has to offer, especially after that sex change. This guy is so far removed from reality, the other day he questioned my remark about his jekyll and hyde behaviour between us and his troll. “Oh like you don’t get cynical to other people” he says. I laughed and responded; “Sorry pal, but I’m not the one going around claiming to be Mr. Nice-Guy. On the contrary, I take no prisoners, and I’m well-known for that”. Well, by the time he gets over that failure, he should be about 75 and hardly fit to start a new life anywhere. Whatever the case, after 20 years struggle to get away from one colonial backwater, I’m not about to go running off to another one. Not anytime ever.
