Weird day with My Fucking Father.  After his meltdown Saturday night, I decide to brave out what was forecast to be a bad weather day (which turned out to be even worse, what with the accumulation of snow no one saw coming) and head out.  Before I did that, I helped Mother with something, then helped My Father with carrying out broken marble tile to their minivan.

OK.  Then he left a message for me while I was at the Rosedale library, where I ended my afternoon after "cleaning my room" by getting rid of my clothes that have holes to Goodwill; going to Rosedale to clean out my car; and dumping some old non-compostable plastic bags at a nearby Target.  He was panicky, trying to find out when I was coming home.  For the record, I didn't even want to use my car Sunday, but him acting like a little bitch forced me to get away from him.

Called to tell him I was coming home from the Terracotta Warriors exhibit at MIA, to which he said, "Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay."  He also said that when I got home and asked him where to park the car.

From there he told me to shovel the driveway, then asked me to help him move the dining room table.  He was inordinately bitching about me finding a job, going back to school, watching too many games and sleeping.  And then he needed me to fix the humidifier.

I took a nap this evening.  Woke up the constant sound of My Fucking Father fixing something outside.  Heard a lot of clanging.  Whatever, fuck him.