The Jane Genie

I'm in a weird place right now. Either I'm going to start screaming and get very violent and probably really upset someone, or I'm going to fall asleep.

You see, despite the fact that I am quite obviously trying to work my way through a Media essay and then do a presentation for the first chapter of Revolutionary Road, my brother still feels the need to come in and say:

"I'm going to watch the F1 now, is that alright?"

So I say nothing, the remote firmly wedged down the side of the chair I'm sitting at, and my brain trying desperatly to focus on my laptop screen and not the increasingly attractive idea of hurling the large mug that's on the coffee table into the side of his face-

"-Well?"

My eyes flicker to his smug and expectant expression. I give in, because I know that no matter what happens, my argument is invalid.

"I suppose it has to be."

I say, and hand him the remote, slapping it into his hand with perhaps slightly more force than I would have otherwise done. He turns on the TV, and the droning of F1 engines blasts through the front room. I move over to the sofa.

Not content with this, the arse proceeds to walk into the kitchen and prepare what looks like (from what I can see sitting across from him) a plate of cucumber and cheese strips which he is dunking into a pot of Doritos salsa sauce. His piggy face is bulging with the food and his eyes are fixed on the speeding cars. The sound of crunching rings in my ears and right now, as I ignore the angry shaking that my left leg is performing, I think I might throw up with rage.

He reaches across to the Playstation on the spare TV, and switches it on. Now the high-pitched sound from a screen which, if it had a voice, is probably screaming 'NO YOU IDIOT, DON'T USE ME, DON'T USE ME', and the low drone of the disc whirring in the console streams into my left ear.

He is now holding a strip of cheese like a cigarette between his fingers, taking bites out of it like a dairy obsessed squirrel fighting nicotine cravings, and grasps the controller in his hands. His feet are resting on the armchair.

And I'm here on the sofa, trying very hard not to throw this laptop at him. Very hard.

The combination of the Playstation/screamscreen, the blaring of F1 cars and commentary and his unbearable greed and ignorance make for me, a 17 year old currently suffering cramps and crazy mood swings, quite simply insane.