My folks are coming home tomorrow, and it still feels like they could be away for another two weeks so I can get all the shit I want to get done done.
I can't do anything while they're around here. Which feels weird, but I feel like I can only do things if they're away. But it never turns out that way. Instead, I have a lot of things I want to do, but I never get around to it.
For example, even though I've had two weeks, I didn't even get around to raking up all the leaves in the backyard; the most I could do was sweep it off the deck. Hell, I didn't even get around to completely raking up the front yard, and I know I'll hear about that. I did nothing about my Entertainment Weeklys. I wrote only one thing for my sports site, and that's because I had to write a World Series preview real quick. Did no cleaning around the house. And I didn't get around to "cleaning my room," which should make My Fucking Father pissed.
So how come I didn't get around to it? Looking back on it, I had the time to do all of that. But then, let's see -- I worked ... I spent three nights working the Vikings game ... another day I spent out after watching the Trojans loss ... last Sunday I just stayed home and did nothing because I thought I deserved a day to do nothing ... I raked leaves a couple times ... I ate at McDonald's a few times ... and then I exercised a few nights. Shit, I guess I could I say I was busy, but then again, maybe I wasn't.
I know that I was busy worrying over my fucking car. Whenever I get worried I can't do anything else. I still feel guilty that I have been using my parents' minivan every single goddamn day they've been away. I will get my car back -- and Lord willing it'll work just fine -- and I'll be able to drive it to the airport to pick them up.
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I will miss them being gone. Because I could be me while they've been gone. I put my laptop on the dining room table, where it's been virtually the past fortnight. I've thrown my envelopes and mail and receipts on there, too. I will miss tossing my clothes on the floor. I will also miss laying my jerk-off towel on my bed and not having to hide it once I'm done ejaculating onto it.
Most of all, I will miss leaving the goddamn bathroom mat where it belongs, on the floor. For some goddamn reason, My Fucking Father every night has come up to my bathroom, takes the mat off the floor and hangs it over the side of the bathtub. I didn't understand at first, but after I realized what he was doing I just wanted to see how passive-aggressive he was going to be about it. And sure enough, every single fucking night I see that thing on the tub. I don't dry my feet on the tub, for fuck's sake. It's supposed to be on the floor because it's a floor mat. Why the fuck does he put it over the side of the tub when I'll just have to put on the fucking floor again? And is he going to do that every goddamn night? What's the fucking use? Seriously, it bugs the shit out of me.
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