Boring Story

It all seems so boring now, my story. Thank you for reading whatever I'm writing, whoever reads. Does it really matter that this forum is public? What can anybody do to me? Should I be afraid of anything? I am anonymous aren't I? The worst I see happening is me boring any would-be readers away to a more interesting blog.
I have millipedes curled up on my walls. When they fall to the floor and I accidentally stand on them they crunch. One cat is curled up on the washing in the backroom. The garden is a jungle. Washing needs hanging out. It is a drizzly day in Perth.

OK. back to my story. I bare my all to a computer screen, confident in the hope that nobody knows who I am.
I was with my brother Stephen in the back of a postal collection van and had wet my pants. That spoiled our trip around with our father on his shift.
Dad collected me from a musical at school in that van, and he must have had the job for years because he gave me a lift home from a nursing job many years later in it as well.
He wasn't a member of the communist party in Melbourne, as far as I know. That didn't stop him from maintaining his strong views on subjects like 'the moneyless society' and black holes. Every waking hour was spent arguing his point. He was always right and seemed to pick on us constantly for our views so he could argue us down. The newspapers were treated to a constant supply of letters to the editor. Once he was invited to defend his stance on communism on a radio show. He declined, telling us that he was probably being 'set-up'.
Dad retired at around sixty. He and Mum lived in the Williamstown house. They sold the Box Hill house to pay out the Williamstown house loan. Dad kept the Dandenong Ranges house because it was his War Service home. Which meant that the loan repayments were at a very low interest rate.
For a while his Mum, my Grandma lived with them until Mum couldn't take Grandma waiting for her at the front gate, watching her walk up the street from the train station after work.
Grandma moved on to another relatives home.
Mum and Dad towed a caravan to Western Australia. they visited my half-brother Jason in the north-west town of Dampier, and were gone a couple of months.
Stephen and I smoked a lot of dope while they were away.
Jason had married a Singaporean woman. They lived in a flat. She wanted Jason to help her daughter get citizenship in Australia. Jason insisted that the daughter should just 'disappear' when she come over, and that they don't need him to help her. The marriage broke up eventually and his wife went back to live in Singapore.
Mum and Dad came back to Melbourne and hosted three hitch-hikers they had collected along the way. Stephen and I felt even more neglected when these two men and a woman came into the house and all we wanted was some parenting, even at our late ages of about seventeen and nineteen. Poor Stephen. I was always mad at him. I would work and he wouldn't. I cook a meal and he wouldn't eat it. "What is this anyway?" He'd say, pointing at the food.
I'd fly into a fury and seek out passages of the bible that he should read so to understand the error of his ways.
Our dog was always staring at me and I thought that even the dog wanted to have sex with me. Everyone else did, so why not the dog. Not Stephen of course. The dog probably just wanted a drink of water and some food. Stephen, also had normal urges I'm sure, because a number of years later he was reported and the police came to the house. Apparently he had been exposing himself to female passersby, inside the front screen door. But they could see what he was doing.

While Mum and Dad were away, every day Stephen would pound furiously on the piano for hours on end, tuneless raging notes, slamming the keys. I could hardly bare it. then the hictch-hikers were in the house and then living in the caravan now returned to the side driveway. One of the guys made a move on me which I rebuffed because they were in our home and I didn't like it. Mum had to find them somewhere to live to get them off our property. She paid the bond money and helped them move into their own flat. We didn't see them again after that.

Stephen left school early for an apprenticeship in the painting trade. We were living at the Box Hill house. He would try to wash his overalls in the copper in our rickety, weatherboard laundry shed. He also bleached some new Lee jeans there and ended up burning holes in them. I think that he stopped turning up for work which is why he lost that apprenticship. Nobody helped him or looked after him. He didn't have the capacity for doing his own washing, getting himself up and there on time.
After Mum and Dad came back from Western Australia, Stephen went to Tasmania. He lived for months in Youth hostels and came back with a wide-eyed girlfriend who stayed at our house for a week or so. She maintained that Stephen was just a 'friend'. When she moved on we never saw her again.
I would drag Stephen along to my favourite pubs on my times off even if he didn't want to go. He could hardly withstand my vicious onslaughts and so would give in to me. He was known and accepted by my nursing friends.
My sexual encounters happened and weren't repeated with the same person most of the time. I didn't want to be used so wouldn't let the same person use me again. I also thought that maybe I was using myself, that maybe I could salvage some pride by telling myslef that I was notching up a tally that I could be proud of.
One evening coming home from work I met a decent young man and invited him home to my bedroom. It was late and my parents were in the room across the hall.
We had sex and when it was over I told him to get out. "Get out" I said in my nastiest style.
He pleaded with me "Give me another chance!"
Cold and icelike I repeated "Get out." I followed him to the front door and slammed it on his back.
Soon after that I came into my room during the day and Dad was lounging on my bed, hands behind his head, ankles crossed. I remained standing in the doorway, hand on the door knob.
What to do; nowhere to sit on that side of the bed. I'd have to walk to the other side. I had a double bed. He just wanted to talk to me. I'm sure he left eventually, without anything bad happening.
I have screamed and brow-beaten Stephen to get my way. I have had sex with people and thrown them out. I have found myself thrown out on the street after sex. I've been taken advantage of in cars, forced into having sex then put out. Too many examples to remember. All I know is that I escaped. Ten years of selfish, abusive behaviour returned with abuse enforced on me ended when I fell pregnant and decided to have the baby adopted.