Growing up with two boys, who smart as they may be, tend to be reckless and stubborn and sometimes even mindless to the point of driving me mad, is not an easy task. Add Rosie with her manipulating ways to the equation and things get trickier.
In order to remain as calm and careless as it is humanly possible when one of the boys or Rosie drive me mad, I developed a defense mechanism; I put my earphones on, turn the volume up to a deafening point, let myself get lost in the music and sing out, as loud as I can, until my throat is sore and voice turns coarse and all my anger has evaporated.
That’s the thing with good music; it blocks out reality and carries you away into a place where none of the earthly problems matter anymore; it liberates you from all the frustrating feelings that threaten to make you explode.
Do you want to know how I came up with this defense mechanism?
Sure you do.
Sooo, it all started the day I had my first serious row with Alex. And guess what it was about? Yep, Rosie. I can’t remember what exactly we were arguing about, but what I do remember is that I couldn’t stand listening to him going on and on and on about her for another moment. Oh, Rosie thinks this, and Rosie did that, and Rosie came up with this brilliant idea about whatever and blah blah blah.
“I wonder how she does that?”, I cut him off at some point.
“Take control over your brain activity, so all you can do is talk about her.”
“What?!? I do not talk about her all the time! Where did that come from?”
“Sure. Whatever. Anyway, I just don’t want to talk about her anymore, ok?”
“Phoebs, she is one of us now. If she has done something to upset you-”
“-I am sure she didn’t realize it and we could all sit down and talk about it cause-”
“-I don’t want any bad feelings, but-”
“I said stop!”, I shouted at him.
“Will you tell me what the hell is wrong with you today?!”, he shouted back.
“I just told you I don’t want to talk about her anymore!”
“Well, I am talking about you now, aren’t I?”
“Oh, how kind of you to acknowledge my existence as well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it. I am off”, I told him.
I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm to stop me.
“No, I won’t just drop it, Phoebe. I want to know what’s wrong.”
“Alex, let go of my arm.”
“I said let go. I mean it.”
We just stood there, god knows for how long, eyes locked, fuming, angry at each other, until he finally released my arm.
One point won for me. Ha!
I turned my back at him and left the room slamming the door behind me.
To be continued!
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