Fight #4653: "The Question"

It's tormenting how a simple question can be misinterpreted and taken to levels of outer significance.

This happened today while my mom and I napped on the bed and my dad was using the computer. My mom, who apparently had been awake for a while, suddenly asked my dad: "So when do they need you to go back to work?". This probably doesn't make sense at all because there a whole back story that I have yet to mention: My dad is an unemployed middle aged man who used to have a really good job as a materials manager in car manufacturer factories. Or something like that. He got fired are you suddenly woke up and asked my dad. Years of unemployment passed when there was an opportunity to go to Canada for work. He took it and left. He came back nine months later, and left again a year later. He came back 4 months later because his permit was over. So he's been home since. That's his story in a nutshell. So now, apparently his boss is very fond of him and has offered him work for when he goes back to Canada. To which my mom, the ever marriage optimistic, is eager for.

Long story short, my dad took it as: "I want you out of here soon!!", and the fireworks began. I don't like fireworks. This was carried on to the kitchen, to where, as my dad washed the dishes and I towel dried them, my mom and him had an ardid fight about how they feel that each other hates the other one so much, how they cannot keep living like that, how they could survive on their own, and so on. All while I stood there with a yellow kitchen towel drying the dishes, listening to their rants and their yells and their anger.

I stood there listening, and for the first time I was tranquil I don't know if it was because I have a cold, or because I feel the responsibility to pay attention and be objective so I could update this little blog.

Quote of the day:
"Arghhh, I cannot put up with him anymore!!... Oh, but honey, don't let this bring you down..."

Yes, because every time you fight in front of me, it only kills a little bit of my soul. Suckers.