My Parents Just Stole My Bed From Me

Not thirty minutes ago. I was sleeping (I had a half-hour before I wanted to wake up at 10:30) when I heard a knock on my door. It was My Fucking Father, and he told me, "We move your bed."

He told me that as a stopgap measure he wanted to take my bed to the nursing home they're shoving Grandmother into. Her bed is so huge it'll take more manpower, and we just don't have that right now, so until we have the time and the muscle, we'll just use mine.

I didn't think today would be the day. He didn't exactly specify when he wanted to do this. Now, Grandmother being brought home by the police -- twice -- yesterday may have influenced his decision to do this right now (more on that later) ... or, he could have decided this all along.

Anyway, my reaction to this is one I hope you all can relate to: "Now???"

But I'm moving the bed. In fact, I'm helping My Fucking Father move the bed. In situations like these I should just sit this out in protest. But here I was, in my pajamas, eyes half-open, mind half-asleep, pulling up first my bed and then the boxspring under it, then slowly negotiating both huge rectangles down my hall, through the dining room and living room, down the stairs, through the front door, and into my parents' minivan. We did rest both on the ground outside, so both has had contact with the driveway and the grass. I can imagine ants and mold have just hitched a ride to the nursing home.

I'm still groggy through all of this. Shit, I'm still groggy blogging about it. When My Fucking Father ran ahead of me to get my boxspring (man, he can't wait to fucking throw Grandmother out of the house) I clumsily tried to help him and stepped on something. "Put your shoes on!" he said. "You're moving my bed!!!" I replied. Does he understand how ridiculous this looks -- taking a bed from your own son and trying to act you're doing it under the nose of the woman who's going to use it? Grandmother hears everything, and I'm pretty sure she heard this.

Further extending the absurdity, Mother tried to make up for all of this by clearing the shit off of my sister's bed. For now, I'm sleeping there, and she wanted a clear bed so I could ease back into unconscious. If she could telepathically lift me up and gently guide me under the covers with her mind, she would do that. Mother just didn't know that I would have to be up in 30 minutes -- oh my God, I hope I can bring a good attitude to the charity work I'm doing this afternoon -- and it's useless to fall back asleep, especially now I have to write about this. "I'll do it," I said, shooing her away.

"Is that yours?" she asked, pointing to the bedsheet that was on my mattress and now on the floor. I said yes, and she took it with. Guess Grandmother does need a bedsheet.

This shit is happening. This shit is real.