COMMENTS: NONE.
12/12/08 Mood: Confoosed
I phoned my mum the other day and told her I was coming home for Chritsmas.
“That’ll be nice,” she said.
I’m sure she meant it, but my mum’s geting to sound more and more like a robot. Years of living with my dad has seen to that. He never aboosed her physically, he just insulted her at every available oportunity. Called her a stoopid bicth when she forgot to do the washing up, and a slut when she wore too much makeup. They had blazing rows when I was a young kid, shuoting and scraeming, while me and my brother Ady listened from upstairs. We’d lie on the floor of my bedroom, ears presed to the carpet. Every nowand then, one of us would sneeze from the dust, but mum and dad were too busy shouting to hear.
Then, one day, the arguments stoped. Mum just gave up fighting back. I used to respect that, becuase I thought she was rising above it, not stooping
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