I swear there is no justice in this world. I've been slowly realizing that lately. I mean, I always knew shit was generally fucked up but recent developments have made that reality glaringly clear.
Ever since I moved home I have been realizing just how spoiled my son is when he is here. Beyond all the video game BS and the fridge stocked with all sorts of teen goodies, and his ability to pretty much come and go through the neighborhood at will, there is the issue of his damn room. Now the room is always a mess, but that’s a teenager thing, not a spoiled kid thing. What I speak of in terms of his room is his ability to basically hold up in there like Osama.
I get home from work about 6:30 every night and I never have to wonder where he is cause his ass is in his room. Door locked, chillin. Not doing homework, not interacting with his grandparents, just chillin in his damn room doing god knows what. Now 90% of that time is spent watching the damn cartoon network. This I know because he can recite every show that was on and discuss at length what went on in these shows, but that’s not the fucking point. The point is basically that he has been afforded a level of privacy that I am just not able to attain.
A 13 year old! I mean it boggles the mind. My mother NEVER goes in his room, she just calls for him at the foot of the stairs and he either comes down...or doesn’t. Now that in and of itself infuriates me because when I was his age if my mother called me I better haul my yellow ass downstairs in a fuckin hurry. See my mother is old school in the way that if she decides that she needs you, and she decides to either whisper it, yell it or even think it, you best get your ass to her attention. This old-school attitude however has not translated to my son. This lil bamma can do just about anything he feels, and if she calls him, its merely a suggestion and not an order.
This of course totally undermines my authority and if I happen to call him or mean business then I am being harsh. In addition, while his room is completely off limits mine seems to sustain more foot traffic than Grand Central Station. Every night I come home someone has been all up in my room, just touching shit. Shit is moved, or missing or askew every fucking day of my natural life. EVERYDAY. Its ri-gotdamn-diculous! Now I am not a neat freak, and I understand that this is her home, but for all intents and purposes, the room I sleep in should be my damn room. Free of foot traffic and prying eyes and touching hands.
For instance, every day I come home this damn chair is back in front of my TV. All my lil beauty products have been moved about, and lets not even get into the closets. My closet is forever being re-arranged by someone who aint me. Then there is this god awful lamp, whose purpose I have yet to decipher. Its just there, and though I managed to shove it into a corner, it always winds up somewhere in the middle of the damn floor or blocking access to my dresser. Shit is just fucked up consistently. There is no "I had to go in your room for xyz" there is no warning, just total access all day every day.
I am one of those folks who knows what they touched and when, so when I get home and all my shit is fucked up or moved around yet again I know it sure as fuck wasn’t me that did it. Not to mention that the Comcast idiots, in an attempt to remedy our internet issues, went and put the damn router in my room. They did finally move it, but not before they rifled through all my shit and unplugged my damn Tivo. I swear there is nothing sacred, private or off limits about my damn life.
It wouldn’t be so damn bad if I could find my shit once its been moved. That shit to me is insane. I put things in places that work for me not for visitors. If my bills are on the desk then I want them right there on the desk, not in a shoebox on the floor under my bed. Yet the boy has dishes, glasses, phones, a computer with internet and a locked door that is treated like the quarantine ward at the hospital.
But when I speak up or try to correct it I am wrong. Its hard as fuck trying to keep peace in this place, cause my issues with him turn into fights with his grandparents who seem to think their darling little cherub can do no wrong. I mean am I so wrong for wanting my own privacy and trying to get my son to spend less time hold up in his room? Half the time living here is like prison with better food. I get chastised for not eating the prepared meal and wanting to (heaven forbid) buy my own damn meal. I get shit on for wanting to actually leave the house one day out of the weekend to see "the boyfriend" and I have to report my comings and goings like I am on fucking work release. Someone explain it to me, cause I don’t get it. I thought I was afforded some type of respect at this age but I guess that just doesn’t happen when your ass moves home.