I blitzed- I blitzed it. I blitzed through it. Why can’t you?
Sure, everyone feels down. Feels a little- a little wobbly. Eventually, you wobble on out of it. You become better for it. Get thick skin. Struggle is good for the bones, I say. For bone structure. Who likes chubby cheeks, really?
Really? I’ve always been a fan of a sharp cheek bone. High, haughty, like you’ve got something jammed right up your arse. Yes. Yes. I’d take stiff upper lip over wibbly wobbly pockets of sad boy fat, any day.
Sorry, a man. Do you understand that you’re a man? Nobody wants or needs a sad man. They might take a couple of ’em in. Buff them up, make ’em all shiny. But they don’t want someone who is forever sad. No one wants to fuck a Forever Sad. And that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Not getting to French or- or fist the girl of your dreams.
Don’t be a prude, now. After that song and dance at dinner! I swear- I swear if one more person in this house tries to hide something from me, I’ll burn the place down! With all of us in it. Roasting. I mean, we’re almost there anyway. Might as well arrive in Hell in style.
So don’t be prudish, Elias. I’m your mother. If you can’t be free with me, who can you be free with? You’re so skittish all the time. So lacklasture and somber. But I know, Eli. I know deep down that you love me. You love me more than anything else in this world. And it’s just hard for you to say. You’re sad, so it’s hard for you to say. But you love me. And when I die- because I will die, Eli- that’ll really give you something to slit you wrists about. So shut up about the sadness already.