My Father didn't talk to me once today, and from the looks of the bathroom wastebasket nestled from away from the toilet, I'm sure he did some of his patented "housecleaning" because he has nothing more important to do.  That probably meant he went to stick his nose in my bedroom, where he saw the pile of papers on my bed and the crap strew on the floor.  He hates that.  None of his fucking business, but he hates that, signalling why he didn't look at me even once today.

Yesterday he was talking to me, today I'm dead to him.  And my parents ask why I don't have a girlfriend.  I'm fucked up because of the mood swings from My Fucking Father I've had to deal with my whole goddamn life!