How does he do it? By storming into my sister's room and yelling at me to "clean it up." He actually said, "It's been a year, two years now!" No, you motherfucker, it hasn't been a year or two years -- it's been seven months. And by the way, seven months ago, you were the son-of-a-bitch who made my sister's room dirty by going into my room and taking out all my things and putting it into her room. I should've told you to do it your goddamn self, but then you'd throw all my stuff out. So I didn't.
It was a frustrating day of reading moods.
- He offered to buy tacos ... then was shocked when I told him I ate the two hardshell and the two softshell tacos before "dinner," even though I only asked for the hardshell.
- I was painting the backyard and when I wanted to pop inside to see a little bit of the Notre Dame-Michigan game, I couldn't open the side door I left open to get to the front yard and thus the front door. It was locked from the other side. Now did My Fucking Father forget that I had to work outside, did he assume that I could enter the front from the other side door, was he telling me to use the other side door, or did he all of this on purpose to piss me off? I don't think I'm paranoid when I say that I honestly do not know.
- I volunteer to take the trash out to the car. He waves me off. "But I'm leaving tonight," I say, with my paint clothes still on. But he, already dressed in pajamas, walks past me. Asshole.
I was going to do some chores tomorrow during the NFL games -- maybe paint, maybe stay inside and wash the floors so I don't miss a minute of football. Now ... now I either pack my Entertainment Weeklys, make sure you don't take my shit away, and/or just sit in my bed and relax. Because after the emotional about-face he pulled on me, I think I deserve to not work. If he doesn't like it, let the fireworks begin.
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