The Bull
It’s 11:34pm on a Tuesday night and my bloody son is still awake. Daniel hasn’t had it easy. He’s isolated at school, trying to find his community, and being continually rejected; it’s just turning angst into his personality. One more embarrassing life event and he’ll turn to tik-tok and start dancing in public venues to My Chemical Romance or whatever the equivalent is to teenagers these days. SO… I’m trying to scrape together what little patience I have left while the never-ending chores that keep me up so late wear me thin. Each fold of the supposed “cherry-blossom fresh” washed clothes pairs with a bang, bang, bang, from upstairs. One fold, bang. He’s probably just air-guitaring. Two folds, bang. Maybe he’s re-arranging his room. Three folds, bang. He’s… OH BOY. No. That does it.
