Spent most of the day pruning the lilac bushes. They could still use some work, even more after I leave on vacation next week, even though I may not have the time, and certainly despite Father warning me not to do any more pruning. Now, because he told me not to, I want to do some more, on Monday.

While he has time he dumped the downstairs TV. It's huge and so heavy that it took me, him, and Mother to take it to their minivan. My God, flat screens have revolutionized televisions. They are so light now! How did we ever deal with moving TV's in the past. ...

While we were waiting just outside the door for Mother to tend to dinner before she could come back down and finish taking the TV outside, he started talking to me about cleaning my room. I think he was trying to remind me that he's shutting down the dumpster service at the store -- gulp -- very soon. But I don't have shit I need to dump in the dumpster. I need to clean my room, but they're mostly papers, and they can be recycled from home. Does he think I need to move big stuff out of my room, like books, or even this desk on which I'm blogging about this?

Goddamn, if he's going to come into my room while I'm gone and clear it of all my stuff like he fucking did the last time, I'm going to kill him.