lazy

He flopped his head onto the sofa cushion. His father could be so annoying. He started counting the dots on the ceiling. Then the drips on the windowsill. Then the number of times Dad said the word "lazy". Mom would call them for dinner in a minute, and it would be a 30 second wrap up of how he wasn't using his full potential. Then dinner. If he could wolf down his plate before Mom noticed enough to caution, "Slow down," he bet he could be back in his room in 20 minutes. Lock the door, turn up the music on his Ipod, and lay perfectly still. They'd leave him alone. Probably sighing their parental confusion-disappointment. Where had they gone wrong? It was when they forgot that children don't want to be their parents. At least not until they become them. They just didn't understand. Old and out of it. If they only knew what he was going through, they'd leave him alone. They didn't care though. WAY to wrapped up in their own plans for him. Dad had reached 25 lazy's. And there was Mom. He should start setting his watch to this. Here's the big finish.

"You could learn a thing or two from your sister. She has drive. She has passion. A future."

He knew that. He also knew that she was lucky. Or blessed. Everything was clear for her, only a matter of stepping on that road and keeping one foot in front of the other. If only he could have just a little bit of that. Life would be so much easier.

I wrote most of this looking at the ceiling. Mine has no dots to count.