The storm pretty much ended those plans. I saw that there were storms coming later this evening; I didn't think they would come earlier, would grow to become a few storms, and become severe. I thought that there was a space around the time I planned to leave home for the concert where the heaviest stuff was gone and the new storms coming in weren't going to be as bad, but then a) the rains returned pretty strong; b) inertia set in and then; c) I saw that the Saturday Night Live rerun was going to be Joseph Gordon-Leavitt with the Dave Matthews Band, and I just saw him in Inception, and I thought he was good in it, and I thought the movie was good and great in some places, and I appreciate that SNL coordinated with the movie studio to rerun his episode to coincide with the release of his movie, even though the studio oddly didn't purchase time to run an advertisement.
Anyway, I stayed home. A few things I drew from it as I stirred in my room:
I actually sat on the steps for the strongest part of the storm. I heard a weatherwoman say that this storm "meant business," and that got me all scared that I would lay in my bedroom and all of a sudden a huge branch from the tree in the backyard would crash through my window and impale me in the throat. It looked scary bad outside for several minutes.- Contrasting the storminess outside, the morale in the house was quite quiet, even tranquil. I think we're all relaxed these two days because My Fucking Father is out of town. Does that asshole know we have to walk on eggshells when he's around? I can listen to my satellite radio through my laptop without plugging in headphones. I can use the motor on my toothbrush. I don't have to act like I'm sneaking around the house at night because no one is there to give a fuck.
- While trying to take a nap while it was raining outside I thought, Wouldn't this be one of the times I could use to read my newspapers and box my magazines? Wouldn't taking advantage of times like these prevent My Fucking Father from throwing them away? Nah, it's still his fault.
One mistake: I usually take out the trash after dinner and put in my parents' minivan. Tonight, however, I thought that I could leave it outside because I would be using the car to go to the concert, and it'd be nice if I didn't have to drive around with garbage emanating its stench. I knew it was going to rain, but I thought I put it in a place underneath the front awning that would shield it from the precipitation. But then it rained so damn hard the whole awning got wet. And Mother locked the front door, and I couldn't think up a good explanation as to why I unlocked it without her knowing. So the wet bag of garbage is on our front stoop, just waiting to jettison its soggy shit water all over the back of my parents' minivan.
Maybe it'll dry off by the time I go out in the morning and put it in the van before Mother finds out. Hopefully she doesn't yell at me. Or maybe she knows not to care because it's garbage. Damn, I'm anticipating what My Fucking Father would say again. ...
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