Monthly Archives: August 2011

Chapter 25: Small Town Living

Dear Journal

It’s been several hours now with my parents at my apartment although it feels like several eternities. They only way I have managed to accurately keep track of the time is due to my mother’s clockwork routine.

It must be approximately 4h30pm as she is on her fifth glass of wine and has finished cleaning the house (again) and has started dinner, having just finished baking 2 cakes and some cookies. She appears to be worried that I am looking dangerously thin (she should meet Eddie the coffee dwarf).

My dad continues to sit in silence in my favourite (well only) recliner occasionally asking questions, although I think “What is the point of it all?” is supposed to be rhetorical.

I have decided that for the sake of sanity and my waist line, that it would be best to show my parents a bit of the city tomorrow. You see my parents have never really spent much time outside of the small town where I grew up (except my father who allegedly had adventures all across the globe – although never spoke of the city. Perhaps dragons, demons and damsels in distress prefer to keep their escapades to more rural backdrops).

The town I grew up in was well interesting to say the most. Generally when I ask anyone if they’ve ever been there they usual answered “Never heard of it” or “Once, by accident”. I didn’t really fit in with the local adventuring community, for one my name “Chris” didn’t really inspire many when surrounded with the other kids who had cool adventuring names like “Aragonoth”, “Lyndengard” or “Salamindaran”.

It was a typical small town with small town ways and whose citizens shared small town beliefs. They believed in the sanctity of marriage, of respecting your elders and that technology was the devil. Heck, when they tried to erect a cell phone tower near the town they only let it stand long enough to hang the entire construction crew before burning it to the ground. To be honest I’m not sure why they even tried to get cell phone reception in the town since no one believed in cell phones, although to be fair they didn’t believe in a lot of things. They still think that Asian people are a bedtime story told to scare children. (Maybe taking my parents into the city isn’t such a great idea)

My father was always the talk of the town, the most bravest adventurest adventurer that ever ever’ed (their words not mine). While I was never really into the whole adventuring thing, but at least I’ve finally found something that I’m good (well adequate) at, maybe I should show him around work, let him see what I really do. At the very least I’ll have someone with whom to share my pain

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Posted by on August 26, 2011 in journal


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Chapter 24: Mom and Dad

Dear Journal

I stood in the door way in utter disbelief. Surely the stress of work had finally gotten to my brain.

“Well are you going to let us in or just stand there like some gaping idiot?” the figment that looked like my mom remarked.

“um, yes, of course, please come in”. I replied still not quite aware of what was happening.

The figment that looked like my father stood as ominously and overbearing as I remember him and as he looked through my humble apartment I could sense his shame and disappointment despite the fact that he hadn’t said a word.

My maternal apparition made her way to the kitchen and was quick to criticise how full the sink was and how empty the cupboards were, but no sooner had these critiques had left her lips and she was washing dishes and stocking the cupboards with food. This apparition was too accurate not to be my mother.

She was from a different era to woman these days. She grew up under the regime of the “three C’s”; Cooking; Cleaning and Criticising. I couldn’t remember a day growing up where the house wasn’t clean or in the process of being cleaned; where there wasn’t food on the table or in the process of being made or where I wasn’t being criticised for doing something or for not doing something else.

If these figures were in fact mirages or apparitions of my parents they had really done their homework, for while my mother cooked and cleaned my father continued his routine, by making himself comfortable on the couch while wallowing in his disappointment of me.

My father was a great adventurer and had travelled the globe saving princesses, slaying dragons and felling entire armies before his arthritic wrist and high blood pressure put him into early retirement. He now lives vicariously through my two siblings. My older brother; who owns his own adventuring academy and has trained some of the greatest adventurers of the modern age most of whom have survival shows on the Discovery Channel; and my youngest sister, who my mother keeps referring to as the “great sorceress”, even though I keep telling her they’re called Pharmacists.

Then there’s me… the great and mighty Customer Service Analyst. I bet my dad doesn’t even care that I once completed 362 TPR reports in under 2 hours (a company best) or that I saved the molemen in IT from the terrible Jock Nerd.

Still he just sits there, grunting and yawning, occasionally moving to scratch himself (unfortunately without warning) a few second of looking around disappointingly, then a great sigh of shame before repeating the routine.

It really is like being a child again, except without the homework and beatings. As much as their presence is uncomfortable and making it difficult to keep childhood memories repressed, it is great to be out of the office… and to be eating something besides canteen food and take-aways.

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Posted by on August 19, 2011 in journal


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