Woke up early because I had to go to "work." I set up experiments for Thursdays at 10 o'clock because that would force me to get up and see if My Fucking Father was setting out my bags of papers and magazines to be recycled. He was acting a little testy last night, topped up with unplugging the modem while I was using it, and I was afraid he would pull that shit again this morning.
And by God, he did. There are some bags of mine in the living room, and I thought it looked like a couple were missing. And sure enough there were a couple bags outside resting next to the glass and bottle bins. Goddamn him. In a scramble I took inside and threw them in my closet. My ever-stuffed closet that My Father would freak out to see if he ever invaded my room.
That's it. I don't have a choice anymore. I have to get a self-storage space. I have to pay fifty bucks a month and move all my shit into it so he doesn't throw out all my stuff. Why can't he leave things alone? Why does he need to clean up? What's wrong with leaving stuff out? Who is it hurting? And who cares about impressing guests when no one drops by?
I mean, really, goddamn. ...
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