Journal/Blog for Unnamed Story Project

My name is Eric and I'm only writing this to kill time instead of myself. My home life is unbearable. Not sure where I'll go with this rant or this notebook, but I'm going to let loose in... 3... 2... 1...
I fucking hate how my parents shelter me!!!
Okay, the way my mom shelters me. Dad's busy off at work lately, which is both good and bad. Good because he gets to avoid all the dramatic bullshit and the stuff my mom puts me through. Bad because without him, I have nobody defending my freedom at home.
Mom tries to hide me from reality, from the world outside our home. I think she wants me to be naive and innocent. I'm seventeen, but not in her mind. To her, I am a little child, who still needs protection from anything and everything outside the doors that feel like prison bars to me.
My sister, on the other hand... She's younger than me by two years, and yet she gets freedoms, privileges, choices, and everything else a teenager covets! She gets a car, she gets to go out when she feels like it, she gets an unrestricted cell phone, and she gets a private internet line.
When politicians speak, mom says I shouldn't hear. When natural disasters are on the news and I walk in the room, mom changes the channel. My internet access? Limited to instant messengers with approved friends on an account she has access to at all times. My cell phone? I can only make and receive calls, send 200 texts a month, and check my emails. The credentials of which, of course, I have to share with her. Oh, and downloading apps? Yeah, when I request an app download or purchase, it notifies her, and I have to wait until she sends an approval or denial from her device(s).
So basically, all my actual living is done between school and friend's houses. When I am allowed to go to approved friends' homes, I can let loose and do all the things I can't catch up on at home. I can play video games, I can browse the web, I can... Well, be me.
My sister though. Oh my sister. I hate her. Not for being who she is, she's a decent person. I hate the difference between us in our mother's eyes. When we were little, dad would take us camping, teach us how to play musical instruments, show us crafting skills and how to fix broken toys or his car. One time, when I was about five or six years old, I took apart the family computer to see what was inside, but I couldn't figure out how to put it all back together properly. So he walked me through it step by step. It's one of my favorite memories.
But as we grew older, his job forced him further and further from home. He got in an accident on the way to another state about eight years ago, I forgot which one. He obviously lived, but ever since then, mom has been the most aggressive helicopter parent on the planet towards me. Maybe it's because dad and I are similar. Maybe it's because of how I consider following in his footsteps. I don't know but honestly, I can't bring myself to care anymore. I've never heard of or seen another person so overly protective of their offspring. Human or otherwise. And at this point, all I want to do is get out.
Yet here I am, another Saturday spent at home, writing in my hidden notebook. Writing my thoughts seems to be the only form of entertainment I have left at home now. I guess this journal entry thing is more coherent than musings and random thoughts. Porn is impossible to find in physical form within thirty miles, and the internet is locked down tighter than a nun wearing a chastity belt during mass at the Vatican. No video games, no available friends, no sports or outside activities, and I'm sick of books. I don't have any CDs at home. All the others I own are at friends' houses so mom never finds out what genres I like. She'd flip her shit, trust me.
All I can do is write... And dinner is ready. Guess I'll get back to this later.
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I'm back, and at my breaking point. It's been... Holy hell, five weeks since the first and previous entry!
I vented a lot that time, but this one is going to take the cake. If I were allowed to have cake. Yeah, mom doesn't let me have pastry or baked goods unless she makes them. Surprise; she never makes them.
Anyway, back to what I was originally going to say! So we were having lunch today, mom, Alyssa (that's my sister's name. I forgot to write that down last time. Embarrassing, right?), and me. Mom left the tv on by accident. We sit down, begin eating, and after a bunch of commercials, a game show comes on. Mom doesn't even notice me watching, as I revel in the wondrous yet cheesy production. I never get to watch much tv, as you may have deduced. I'm eating my food and staring, but mom seemed mentally absent. She zoned out until the host made a particular joke referencing yet never naming male genitalia, after a comment made by a guest star.
Well that snapped mom out of it pretty quick. And what does she do? Simply turn the tv off? Tell me to do so? Nope. Not only does she unplug the tv... That would be merciful. She takes all the televisions in the house to the garage and locks them up. She calls the cable company and removes the particular channel we were watching from our service. And the frosting on the cake was her sending a furious email to the network that aired the show, telling them how offended she was that such a thing was allowed on tv, and that her son heard the joke. She finished it off, and me too, by saying that her son is too young to be around such vulgarity. She sent it in, and sent a similar letter to the freaking FCC.
I'm not only the son of fascism incarnate. I'm so done with living here that I am beginning to consider my post high-school graduation options already. And I'm nowhere near done yet. Not the way my school works the students.
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Okay, home may suck beyond comprehension, but I have some seriously amazing new friends. They started inviting me over every weekend to help me try to actually enjoy living. My mom put them through the rigorous tests and interviews to approve them as my peers. They passed and took it upon themselves to make my life a total duality. Hell at my home, Heaven at theirs.
I suppose I should introduce them.
First, we have Dale: Dale is a bit shy, but really cool. He's kind of dark, but plays guitar, piano, and bass. He loves video games, and listens to just about every genre of music he can find. He also gets a lot of concert tickets, so when I go to his house for sleepovers, we often wait until after mom calls to check up for the final time before she goes to bed, and then we hop over to the next city for a show. Lately he's introduced me to a lot of new video games I'd never even heard about! He showed me RPGs, survival games, and this new shooter that makes you build each gun part-by-part before you can use it in any versus mode! Assuming it's accurate to reality even a little bit, I learned a lot and think I would like going to a shooting range some day.
Next, we have Brandon: Brandon isn't very bright. His parents never really did much parenting at all. Almost the opposite of me. They gave him the basics, like manners and social skills, and encouragement. But beyond that, they didn't care. He likes to do a lot of... questionable things in his spare time. Ironically he hides it all really well, hence passing mom's tests and drilling about his personal life. Brandon also gets his hands on a lot of stuff he technically shouldn't be able to. Lots of fireworks, throwing knives, porn, etc... So it's nice to have someone that likes living wild and sharing it with other people. We don't usually go to his house, but when we do, I expect an adrenaline rush every time.
Then there's Kyle: He's the star athlete at his school. He has not broken, but slain fifteen school records. If he's not practicing, he's probably eating or resting from a workout. Except on Wednesdays. He also really likes movies for some reason, so he takes five or so hours every Wednesday night after practice to plop down and watch a movie. Doesn't matter what kind. He just loves cinematic works. Name a movie, he's seen it. If there's a movie that got canceled in production, he has Brandon find the derelict footage for him. He helps me stay active though, so my body doesn't wither away in my bedroom. I think I actually gained some muscle lately!
Here and there we see Jack: He's not around a lot, but he's a funny guy. He's always the loudest guy in the room, but it's because he earns it. He always has a seemingly whimsical, yet witty response to most situations. He practices martial arts with his dad, and loves collecting knives of different styles.
Lastly we have Colleen: I met her in school, and she's the first girl I ever talked to without a group project looming over our heads. She likes horror video games, but she loves animals. If she had to pick between feeding herself or a dog, she'd give her whole meal to the dog. She's really compassionate, but doesn't take people's bullshit. She hates trying new foods, so I try not to have meals at her house. It's never anything but chicken nuggets or macaroni and cheese. She has a MENSA certified brother that I think I'd like to know better, but he's always in his makeshift lab doing some random experiment.
So yeah, those are my friends. They've made my life bearable, and given me the opportunities to experience things I'd have never had. They seem like people I'll want in my life for a long time.
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Alright, time for a little background on my family. Let's start with mom and dad.
Mom worked in a hospital for about 28 years. Dad works in... Well, a lot. He's been in a lot of technical fields, which is how he met mom. Mom was at her usual post when one of the x-ray machines broke down. At the time, my dad was a technician for those machines, and so he got called to that hospital to fix it. As he waited for parts to arrive, he was tuning up some of the other machines, and mom bumped into him. They hit it off, and a few years later, settled down in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago. Dad took up quality assurance consulting so he could make a bigger paycheck. It was plenty to support a family and he was proud of that milestone. Mom was glad she got time away from the chaos and nonstop action of the hospital. Dad always said she wanted to go back to work, but every time a position opened up at any of the hospitals nearby, a college graduate would snatch it up for half the salary mom used to work for. She's still a smidge bitter about it, I think.
About a year later, I was born. Mom miscarried a child between me and my sister, and it really tore her up inside. She obviously got over it, however, because my Alyssa came around despite the doctor telling my mom she'd likely never have another child. We were raised fairly similarly until dad's accident. I still have no idea why my mom treats us so differently, but it gets deep under my skin. We live drastically different lifestyles by no choosing of our own. She never speaks up to help me with mom, and she never does anything to ease the weight on me. But she expresses her sympathy for mom's outrageous treatment. I don't know how sincere she is, but I like to pretend she's doing something in secret so that mom doesn't put me in a bubble and lock me in the basement for "my own good."
Last week though, dad was home for a few days, and it was amazing. He went out and bought a birdhouse kit and told my mom we were going to his friend Roger's house to assemble it with me. We aren't allowed to have power tools or paint or anything potentially harmful in the house, which shouldn't surprise anyone. But on the way there, he tossed the birdhouse out the window of his car, to my surprise. Before I could express my confusion, he put up his hand and said to hold all questions until he said otherwise. So I did. We drove to his friend Jerry's house and he got out but told me to stay put. I sat in the car as he walked inside, exchanged a few words with Jerry, and accepted a brown grocery bag from Jerry. Patiently, I sat as we drove what I'd guess was another 15 miles. When we finally stopped, I pulled myself out of my speculations to see that we were at a gun range. I was ecstatic and made no attempt to hide my emotional state.
Dad said he had talked to my friends and asked what father and son activities they thought I would like best. At some point I had mentioned my interest in shooting to Brandon and Jack, and they both passed it on to my dad. He finished explaining, then walked to the trunk of the car, and pulled out a small metal case with a lock on it. He dialed the combination and pulled out a fierce looking revolver. A used Ruger GP100 he had bought from a work buddy and left at Jerry's so mom wouldn't find out about it. Its color was "stealth blue" according to dad's description and its barrel accepted 6 rounds of .357 ammunition. It felt lighter than I expected, actually, but very sturdy nonetheless. Video games all made guns seem either very heavy or very light.
We fired hundreds of rounds that day, before we noticed the time and headed home. When we got home, dad beat mom to the punch and explained why we had no birdhouse. Lying very convincingly, he explained how Jerry's tools had broken down and wrecked the birdhouse, leaving it as little more than sawdust. Mom bought it, and dad stashed the gun at Jerry's the following day. Dad and I made sure to get to the range every time he came home for the next couple years until he got into his accident. Despite his injuries, work put more and more responsibility on him, and he had to start going farther and farther away until he'd peaked. It's normal for him to be gone two or more weeks at a time, visiting more than half the states in the U.S. before coming home. I envy him, if I can be totally honest. And I can! Because this is my damn book to write in.
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