Make It Loud

She says "Turn it down."

I say: suck it, no way.

Well, I don't say that. I don't have a death wish I would prefer not to get a dirty sponge thrown at my face. For a woman that doesn't believe in violence, Hossmom likes to throw a lot of stuff at me.

But I think, no way in fucking hell am I turning it down. Suck my balls, it ain't happening. In fact I'm going to turn it up so I can't hear her at all. I still can make out what she is saying by the hand gestures and the sponge is raising higher in the air, but tough shit, I'm checking out.

I don't want to hear anything. I know that Hossmom is now telling me that I am going to go deaf if I continue to listen to that heathen heavy metal. We can only hope.

I'm done with listening today. I am done listening to constant complaints of everyone. I don't care who hit who. I really don't. My last response to this repeated complaint was "Are you bleeding? If not, go away." Not a great parenting moment but it is something that my own father would have said to me.

I'm done with listening to the dogs bark at every leaf that falls in the backyard or anytime a doorbell rings on the TV. I'm done with listening to my boxer lay down vicious fart bombs right when I'm about to sit down for lunch with two kids. That hit eachother. That then tell me about it. In a gas cloud of ass.

I'm done with listening to questions about what I'm doing, where I'm going and how did that big zit get on my forehead. It got there so that my whole family would ask me how it got there. Over and over again.

I'm only listening to offensive teenage aganst music from a time when I asked the questions and I made the noise. I'm checking out of the adult world to a place where you snap your figers, snap your neck and then the sandman comes. I'm listening to ear damaging screams, face melting guitar riffs and drum beats composed in hell.

So go ahead, hit eachother, threaten to fling sponges. Calgon took me away to the place of deafening music.

But I can still feel. I can feel my son smacking my face trying to get my attetion. I can feel my daughter launch into my crotch from the top ropes. And I can feel a sponge hit me in the back of the head because my music, apprently, isn't loud enough.

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