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December 24, 1995: The Last Word
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I've worked so hard to get where I am today.
I've gone through shit. I've put up with shit. And I'm tired of turning on the television each night and seeing some strung-out high school dropout who's making millions of dollars and adored by the country with little talent and just a pretty face. They'll make more money in a year then most hard-working people will make in their entire lifetime. It's crap.
Maureen's planning a protest tonight. Everything she does is always in self-interest. So, it'll have to be the same for me.
I worked my way through college. I made the grades to get where I am. I studied my ass off while Mark lounged around the apartment leeching off his parents while he devoted himself to his "project". It's always the artists that everyone loves. The movie star. The pop singer. All the girls swoon over the rock star...the pretty boy...
Control.
I'll use my authority against them. I'm the landlord. It's my right. I'll get Mark to stop her so I don't look bad in front of Alison's father...my father. I have to prove that I can handle the responsibility. They just don't know the pressure I'm under right now. It's not so much that I'm betraying our friendship; so much as I'm manipulating it. It's not like they really have to give me the money anymore anyway. I covered for them when Alison's father asked about it. I paid out of my own pocket and for what? For them. And Mark says that I don't know what friendship is. He has no idea. Rent is just a red herring. To get what I want. To make the family happy. It's a test. Just another test. I can handle tests...
I have a stable marriage. A good paycheck. Food on my table. Electricity. Heat. I own my own property and I have a right to do with it as I please. I am exactly what makes up this damn country. The working man. And now they're all trying to take that away from me. They keep twisting it like I'm wrong. Like they're so much better then me. I never wanted to be the prick my father was, but it may just turn out that way. I guess it's like they say, "like father, like son".
Maybe Mark was right. Roger and I do have something in common after all. But it isn't what he thinks. It's that we both hate the blood that flows through our veins.
I pick up my cell phone and dial.
December 24, 1995: The Last Word
******************************
I've worked so hard to get where I am today.
I've gone through shit. I've put up with shit. And I'm tired of turning on the television each night and seeing some strung-out high school dropout who's making millions of dollars and adored by the country with little talent and just a pretty face. They'll make more money in a year then most hard-working people will make in their entire lifetime. It's crap.
Maureen's planning a protest tonight. Everything she does is always in self-interest. So, it'll have to be the same for me.
I worked my way through college. I made the grades to get where I am. I studied my ass off while Mark lounged around the apartment leeching off his parents while he devoted himself to his "project". It's always the artists that everyone loves. The movie star. The pop singer. All the girls swoon over the rock star...the pretty boy...
Control.
I'll use my authority against them. I'm the landlord. It's my right. I'll get Mark to stop her so I don't look bad in front of Alison's father...my father. I have to prove that I can handle the responsibility. They just don't know the pressure I'm under right now. It's not so much that I'm betraying our friendship; so much as I'm manipulating it. It's not like they really have to give me the money anymore anyway. I covered for them when Alison's father asked about it. I paid out of my own pocket and for what? For them. And Mark says that I don't know what friendship is. He has no idea. Rent is just a red herring. To get what I want. To make the family happy. It's a test. Just another test. I can handle tests...
I have a stable marriage. A good paycheck. Food on my table. Electricity. Heat. I own my own property and I have a right to do with it as I please. I am exactly what makes up this damn country. The working man. And now they're all trying to take that away from me. They keep twisting it like I'm wrong. Like they're so much better then me. I never wanted to be the prick my father was, but it may just turn out that way. I guess it's like they say, "like father, like son".
Maybe Mark was right. Roger and I do have something in common after all. But it isn't what he thinks. It's that we both hate the blood that flows through our veins.
I pick up my cell phone and dial.