She says that he should just go somewhere. Go somewhere and find something new. He's sick and tired of this life. You can just tell when he walks away. Or gets into the car. The only thing you can hear is a long stressful sigh. "He's tired", she says. "He's at the stage in his life where he doesn't have anything to look forward to." He goes to work, comes home, and does nothing except for chase after his selfish, careless daughter and absent-minded son. "Get your homework done. Go have a shower. You already had supper? Why couldn't you have told me that before? Do you think I'm stupid? Stop being so cheeky. Stop acting like a B-R-A-T," and he spells it out for me. As if brat is a bad word. "Do the dishes." Sometimes I wish I could just disapear. Or get into a fatal car accident where I'd be in critical condition, and have broken all my bones, and be almost dead, but I'd get better. Only not for a few months. Then it'd show him, how much he has to live for, and that he should treat every minute of his life as his last. That he shouldn't just sit around the house and be frustrated. Thinking that he has nothing to live for. Because he does. He just has to realize it.
