Had nothing to do on a Sunday.  Which is what I really wanted to do -- nothing.  But since I live with my parents I've regularly been expected to do something, such as chores; My Father would not have it any other way.

So after hemming and hawing and thinking that maybe I should challenge him and really stay in my bed all day -- I have a bed memory of him barging in while I was watching TV sick and, after telling me he needed something done, he told me I was lazy, he can go fuck himself -- I decided to make good on my promise to Grandmother and take her to the grocery store, for fruits or vegetables or something.

I heard her take a call from her room while I was in my room.  When I come out, she's already dressed.  She says she's going to the casino.  Should've gotten up sooner; then, she would've been able to go, then come back in time to go with her friend.  Now she'll want to make me take her tomorrow, when I work, or Tuesday, when I want to go to the movies.

So, what to do, what to do. ... I know, I'll clean our leather furniture!  So I go downstairs to grab a bucket and rag, pour out some cleaner, and start wiping.  My Fucking Father always keeps going on about keeping the leather furniture clean, despite the fact that we never use them and we never have guests over.

After a few minutes of that, I realized there was one thing I could do: Gas up the car.  I have a coupon that says I can take off 15 cents a gallon if I fill up at this one particular independent gas station on Sundays.  And, of course, I can't just take the car out for a fill-up; I have to warm up the engine a good long time or else the engine's gonna hurt it.  So I decide to leave the for the mall, even though I have no business going out there.

In reality, I left because I didn't want to be home when my parents come home.  My Fucking Father always gets on my ass on the weekends especially because I "don't work" then.  And oftentimes I'm greeted not with a hi or a smile -- My Fucking Father never smiles -- but either something he wants me to do for him or a question along the lines of, "Why aren't you doing anything?"

I have no reason to go out, especially once college basketball is over.  But that fear and annoyance of knowing he always thinks that forces me to get into my car, drive around to some place, thus wasting $3/gallon on gas more often, just so I avoid the minute they come home.

I leave -- and by the way, I don't fill up my tank at this independent gas station because there were a line of cars waiting to use the four pumps.  How is this place right in the middle of a neighborhood away from the busy streets so popular?  Is it the coupon? -- and I come back and I see that the bucket of dirty water I left out is gone.  The parents were home, but even though My Fucking Father was in the back deck scraping off ice, he didn't say anything about the bucket.

I see that the bucket's empty and put in a different room and the rag draped on a clotheshanger.  My Fucking Father bitches about cleaning the leather furniture from time to time -- naturally -- and I hammered him about cleaning it today.  "Is it dirty to you?" I asked, genuinely concerned, because I really cleaned it.

I've forgotten the point of this blog post.  Oh, OK; I could have stayed home and gotten sleep during all this.  But apparently going out to the mall and walking around, plus the simple act of pushing a rag up and down my sister's walls -- and by the way, I didn't know leather furniture and walls could get so dirty -- tuckered me out.  So I was crashing after dinner, and at 7:30, even though I know the game's about to be on, and I knew it was going to be good (and it turned it was, and the good guys won -- Steelers, 13-10!), I also knew that I was so tired that it would be useless to even sleep with the television on because it would disrupt the rest my body was telling me I needed.  So I turned it off and acted like I was going to bed.  I guess that's why I'm typing up a storm at 4 in the morning.

Because I left my medication in my car at the end of a long but eventful sports-watching Saturday, I'm behind on my meds.  I thought I'd catch up today, but tonight's 4 1/2-hour slumber effectively killed that.