The First Of Many Uncomfortable Days With My Parents

Our first real snowstorm came on Wednesday. Since things are "winding down" at The Store, I figure there's a good chance my folks just wouldn't try to make it out that day and instead just sit on their asses. They did.

That didn't stop My Fucking Father from waking me up at 11 to shovel the snow, however. I have no choice, do I?

We had ... you know, I meant to see how much my town got. No matter. It was a lot, and it was the wet kind, the snow that you can make snowmen from, heart attack snow. It would be the kind of snow you would be grateful to have a snowblower for ... except that our huge gigantic one, the one that sits at the ready right behind the garage door, does not work.

I knew it didn't, so the first thing I did when I went outside was to grab the shovel. The city plows had already gone through and cleared the street to bare pavement, so the end of our driveway had the most snow and the type of snow that was rocky from the street the plows picked up and threw onto our property. I dug in the first shovel, and I knew I just had to try to make the fucking snowblower work.

I tried everything I was supposed to do -- filled it with gas, put the plug in, primed it, made sure the choke was where it was supposed to be, and let it sit. But although I could turn it on and get the engine moving, pretty soon it died. After about four or five attempts, I stopped. So goddamn frustrating. My Fucking Father said he got a great deal on it, and it's so big it still probably cost him a lot, and the fucking thing doesn't even work. Stupid. ...

So I spent the next 2 1/2 hours trying to clear the driveway. I was ready to just give up; temperatures were going to rise above freezing, and the snowpack was short enough that I could drive through it if I wanted to. But then My Fucking Father came out, took another shovel, started on the back of the driveway, then berated me for not rolling up the snow from one side of the driveway to the other by sliding the shovel, even though the snow was too goddamn heavy to do that and I had to pick up the snow was shovelful at a time and deposit to the side.

"Use your brain!" he yelled at me, before giving up: "Goddamn, there's no use teaching you anything!" Yep, this is what I have to look forward to in their retirement.

At least Mother came to the same conclusion about the snow. She came out and picked up our third shovel. Together, we got the driveway clear of snow of (looking up what NOAA says) five inches of snow as of 11:01 in the morning.

At 2 or 3 Mother made dumplings and gruel for us to eat. Later My Father told us that the rice and vegetables the 'Rents made can be eaten at any time -- no dinnertime necessary.

You know, I have to admit: My lazy ass could tolerate living with them 24/7. I was afraid that the tension in the house would be so unbearably full of discord and unhappiness that I would have to do something else, even if I have no plan on what the hell that would be. But things aren't exactly ducky, either. A lack of dinner time, to me, means "Whatever, I don't give a shit." And the impending eviction of Grandmother hangs a heavy mood over the house, at least I think so.

I once felt safety and security here. But with The Store and with Grandmother, I don't see it anymore. Whatever comity I could draw from coming back to this house and to my bed, I don't feel it, not right now. All these changes cast a sad pall here. It's like things are dying. The only reason I'm not rushing to leave and not come back is I have no place to run to.