I still resent my parents blindsiding me by coming home. One of the things they forced me to do is go back to the bedroom I'm in now, which I still consider Grandmother's bedroom. I prefer my sister's bedroom because, frankly, I still consider that my proper bedroom, and also because I like her bed. But I was chased back there. Fuck, they wouldn't have known a thing if they would've just told me they were coming home. ...
Their parting gift to me was my fear that they'll be able to come back at any time without my knowing. That has paralyzed me from letting myself hang out. I haven't thrown my clothes on the dining room floor -- I've thrown them on my sister's bedroom floor. I've been forced to be more careful about where I put the mail. And, most of all, I hadn't moved my pillows and blanket back into my sister's room as soon as they left. I was lazy after I moved my stuff back into Grandmother's bedroom, and since My Fucking Father set up the TV in that room I've found it way too easy to lay in my bed and watch TV. But much of the reason I've stayed is fear.
At least until recently. In the end, I wanted to stick it to my folks, and finally I overcame my inertia and started sleeping in my sister's bedroom. And to be honest, I kind of don't like it there. I had complained that it's way too hot in Grandmother's bedroom, but this time around the temperature's just fine, and in fact my sister's bedroom is a little too cold. Also, the TV that I put in there, the old one I took from downstairs, is still downstairs, and it's kind of boring to be in that bedroom without the ability to lay in that bed and watch TV.
So why am I doing it? To express how pissed off I am at my parents, and how badly I want -- I need -- to disobey them. Sure, they don't know it, although I think they kind of suspect. But I need to do it for me, to think that I will not be controlled by the petty, juvenile edicts of old people just because this is their house and therefore I have to follow their rules even if they're not there.
Of course, I'll be back in Grandmother's room as soon as they come back.
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Meanwhile I am dreading all the shit I had planned on going through but haven't. All these papers I had grand plans to go through, but I'm not. I have the weekend left; anything that I will keep or haven't gone through I will put back in storage in a sloppy fury.
I bitch that I don't have time, but I kind of do. Could have done stuff this evening. Can do stuff this weekend, and even Monday night. But I know I won't. See, I have been invited by ***e* to this stripper party, and I think I'll go, even though I'll see her when she comes to clean the house -- and me -- Sunday. There's a chance I'll go to the University of Minnesota men's hockey tournament games tomorrow. I might go out to eat while watching Saturday's Wild Card games. I will make it a point to go to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division) to see ******a, my ATF there. And Sunday. ...
(sigh) Maybe I should get ready for my parents to come home. But why should I? Why can't I keep all these papers in my room? Why can't I throw all my dirty clothes on the floor? Why can't I sleep wherever the fuck I want? I'm not hurting anybody. You get that, guys? I'M NOT HURTING ANYBODY!!! And so, despite all the hell I might catch when they come home, I'm going to act, and live, the way I want to, and that's like a goddamn hobo.
And then scurry like hell to hide everything before they return. 'Cause I'm a feeble rebel, you see.
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