This is how y'all look when calling me obsessive for wanting attention.
It all started when my brother was born. On the year 2000, I was no longer my parents' only pride and joy; my mom had given birth to a beautiful baby clown boy. I was okay with it at first, but then by the time he entered school, he got annoying! Ever since second grade, I felt like I could not get shit done because of my brother's constant honking and chuckling and other obnoxious clown noises. It was so disruptive that I believed I would never get my work done, which is why I became a workaholic at such a young age.
Why is it so significant that my brother was a noisemaker? My parents let it slide! Every time I complained, my parents were like, "Leave him alone! He's letting out steam from being so exhausted at school! He doesn't magically get everything taught to him as you do, you freaky witch! He's a human being that uses mental energy to learn, and with the mental energy he's putting forward, he's going to attend Harvard when he grows up!"
1. I am a human being, too. I don't easily understand the material I'm taught in school because I'm a witch, I pay attention in class.
2. Spoiler alert to my entitled parents circa 2007-2013, your son may be smart underneath the ADHD and dysgraphia, but he still doesn't qualify as a genius, let alone a Harvard-bound one- in fact, he has a scholarship to the University of the Pacific for water polo, which is on the other side of the country and far away from Harvard. The closest you'll ever have to a Harvard baby is me; while Indiana University isn't Harvard, it's close enough since it's also an Ivy League university.
Clowns have a habit of ignoring plain facts.
The trend among clowns of calling me "obsessive" began in high school. Again, I'm not pretty or unique in any way, so teachers and classmates alike often ignored me. Getting ignored all the damn time got on my nerves, and the only people I had around to talk about this bullshit to were my parents. Then comes the circus elephant in the room, my brother.
Whenever I'm having a serious conversation with my mom and dad about some clown shit that happened in school, my brother would make his grand, dramatic entrance and ask for food or something else unimportant as part of his silly comedy routine. Immediately, my parents turn their attention toward the show my brother's putting on while I have to hold my tongue for five whole fucking minutes when I am both emotionally and physically incapable of doing so. I have no choice but to interrupt the show by shouting one of the various classic lines:
"This clown shit that's happening at school can't continue! It's getting in the way of my work!"
"You guys don't fucking care at all!"
"You'd continue listening to me if I were one of those pretty clowns from the highest rung of my school's social ladder!"
I might sound rude, but that's because I'm angry when my brother barges in like this. My parents, being the clowns they are, fail to see the message behind my harsh words and blow me off as "obsessive." I'm a trapped lioness in a sound-proof circus cage built by the clowns that run the circus I'm part of, fruitlessly roaring in hopes that the clowns will hear me but not being heard. Nonetheless, my animalistic rage keeps me from seeing this vicious cycle of lunacy.