Don't Fucking Do My Laundry!

I should have known My Fucking Father would get all up in my business again.  It was time to do my laundry, and I had the whites going, but I was watching TV, specifically doing a Fresh Off The Boat-(TV off)-Undateable-Weird Loners, rare three-network block.  And when I finally come down some time in the 9 o'clock hour, the clothes weren't in the washer, they were in the dryer, and on top of that, they were already dried.

I know My Fucking Father just came in, threw my clothes from the washer to the dryer, and hit normal instead of medium, like I wanted to, like they needed to be in.  That pisses me off.  I don't apologize for following the care instructions on the tags of the towels and shirts I was washing.  And yet on top of that, I acceded to My Fucking Father's demands that I clean all my white clothes together and all my colored clothes together.  I tried separating all my clothes by color and then by recommended wash and dry cycle, and he fucking yelled at me, so (at least for now) I'm just throwing all the same-colored items together and washing and drying at the cycle of the majority.  That should be enough for him; he should have backed off.  Instead, he sticks his goddamn nose in shit that I can do myself and he just fuckin' dries all the clothes without telling me.  I ... I just don't know what I'm going to do.