A few weeks ago I thought my parents began walking around Saturday mornings. That gave me the opportunity to leave for the day. That ended after, well, one Saturday morning.
Things are always weird weekend mornings. I don't ever want to talk to my parents (really My Father) in the morning because he'll always bitch about something. I have an excuse during the workweek (at least when I actually have work) because I have to get ready to go to work and I'm out the door. But weekends are something different. Oftentimes I have and do say I have to go to work, either at the radio station or at the U. (both lies). That allows me to just go from getting up to leaving the house very quickly, and they/he would not be curious as to whether or not that is actually true. The trick, unfortunately, is getting up. While my body has been conditioned into waking up on the weekends (well, actually Saturday only) the same time as I do during the week, I don't want to because, hey, I don't have to go to work. So what I usually do is loll around bed, check my phone, and try to go back to sleep. The danger with that is I might wake up too late to act as though I have things I need to do. Sometimes I just say, "Yeah, I'm working out today," and I guess I could say that, but that invites an opportunity for him to tell me to do chores around the house.
Today was one of those times. After I decided I should leave, I see My Father laying around on the living room couch. He calls me over. Shit, I thought to myself. That usually means he's going to lay into me about not going to school or finding a job with benefits. I got a lucky break, though -- he just warned me that he needed me to look over some papers after I get home from "work," which is what I told him I needed to go.
But I go from dodging a bullet about getting yelled out, let alone being asked to do chores, to feeling guilty about not doing chores. Just inside the door I see a lot of tools. Most of them were saws. That meant that he was going to spend the day sawing limbs off the tree in the front yard. That's a duty I find both dangerous and unnecessary. I did some quick Internet research on pruning trees, and I'm sure that what My Father is doing isn't right and will in fact hurt the tree. Because of that, and the fact that I think it's best to avoid My Father when doing shit around the house, I have never helped him with that chore (I don't help him with many chores, to be honest). But, you know, that's a huge tree, and those saws are dangerous. Maybe he needs help?
But I didn't ask that. I asked him what the tools are for, and he said that he and Mother have limbs to cut down. And I left it at that. Even though I really didn't want to help, though, I feel really, really bad I decided not be around, even if it would be for My Father to boss me around and do things I know in my heart is the wrong thing to do.
So today, my parents are doing maintenance work around the house (at least the way they see it) while I am here at the library blogging, then working out, and maybe sneaking in a nap. I feel lazy and guilty right now.
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Oh, by the way, I tried making up for not being there by moving my new car. The tree's limbs are somewhat hanging over one side of the driveway, and I figure they would think it would be good to move it in case a big branch falls.
I told My Father on the way out I would move it, but in putting all my stuff into the old car, which I use on the weekends, I drove off without moving the new car. And I felt so guilty about that (on top of not helping with pruning the tree) that, 45 minutes after I left, I drove all the way back from this library in order to move the car and leave the key.
I feel lazy and guilty, but I am forgetful.
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