All I wanted to do was watch Sunday Night Football in the dining room because I still can't get any fucking reception on Channel 11 in my room. And so My Fucking Father had to interrupt my football-watching and Internet-surfing to nag at me about finding a job with benefits and going back to school and then, the kicker,
"setting a schedule." All only because he decided he wanted to wake me up on Saturday for help related to the cruise they're taking. Fuck him; he's not leaving yet, I'll help him on my own goddamn schedule. And then he knocked on my door Sunday because he needed my help storing things from The Store up in the attic. Glad my body woke me up before he fucking did.
I need these two weeks away from them.
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