my peace is gone.

i knew they shouldn't have left me with the baby yesterday. i've been avoiding it, being alone with the kid for more than thirty minutes. any more than that, and i knew something would go horribly wrong. but his mother is so happy to be here and not where she's from that she's all about getting out of the house. "i don't want to have to carry him around on the subway and bus," she said. "and we're going out, can you watch him?"

i sat for a moment, tight-lipped and silent. she asked if i was okay. i said i was fine, i'd watch the child. inside, i was seething with rage. all the kid's done since he's gotten here is cry, cry, and cry. and all his mother's done is push him on other people. why the hell did she have him in the first place? still, i didn't object. i let them leave. i watched the spoiled brat.

as soon as they left, i blasted bjork. that put him to sleep. (hell if i know why, though.) about one hour before they came back, he suddenly woke up, crying. incessant crying. it was driving a nail into my skull. he sounded like a fucking seagull being anally raped. i did everything i could to shut him up. the typical things babies like. nothing worked. so i put him to sleep again and waited for everyone to come back. i wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing i had failed at taking care of a baby. i knew i failed, though, which is really all that matters.

i decided to make myself scarce and locked myself up in my room. until this morning, when i came downstairs to fill my water bottle. i spotted my mother on the couch. asked her why she was home. she said she wanted to take the mother and child out to enjoy themselves. i grunted, went to fill my water bottle and came back. asked her what my budget was, if i was getting a used car. she gave me a pretty filthy look and said two hundred dollars. "maybe if you'd gotten a job, then you could buy one yourself." like i wasn't trying. i hissed and spat, like any angry cat would. went back to my room. chain-smoked. stared into space.

i need that car, i need that car, i need that car. that's all i could think about. years of declining vacations (and in many cases, just being left behind) and i can't even a this fucking used car. i'm one hundred percent certain if i asked to go on some stupid cruise, her eyes would light up and she'd suddenly find money. whatever. i hardly ever ask for anything. i just want that car, so i can go on a road trip. alone. far away. and get the break i so desperately need from everything. i'm ten days from self-destructing. suddenly, she calls me downstairs to tell me something's wrong with the baby. he looks sick. she's taking him to the emergency room. i faded out a little after i heard that part, so i don't know what's really wrong with him.

so it must be my fault, because the kid was fine before they left him with me yesterday. nobody said this out loud, but i can feel it. it's either my fault because i fucked up while i was watching him, or it's the universe's way of saying i'm getting out of line by asking for things. although if it is the universe, i doubt they would take it out on a child. but who knows? the universe is fucked up too.

so, somehow, i fucked up. today is starting pretty badly.

and the worst of it is that i should care more. and i don't. i'm sorry the kid isn't feeling well, yeah. i'm not heartless. but i can't stop thinking about that fucking car. i need it. maybe it's because i don't think anything's really wrong with him, deep down. and if it is my fault, it's also his mother's fault for not taking care of her fucking baby. don't carry the thing around for nine months and then dump it on some emotionally retarded young adult the first chance you get. that's just bad parenting.

so there you have it. i'm a self-centered piece of shit, who cares about a used car more than a child. i won't be offended if you tear me a new one. i deserve it.

honestly.