Mother comes home early tomorrow. Apparently my stripper friend is coming from, like, Worthington to clean the house. I have done everything I could to either store or hide all the shit I have that makes my parents upset. The only thing I can do now is wait for her, maybe trash the water filter for which I paid an exorbitant amount for its replacement, and hope that what she does is good enough and that I didn't forget anything else.
It's the hiding that bothers me. I went to my storage unit last night and it's about seven feet high. I have so much shit that I don't even know where to begin. I have sworn that I would get through them -- take a bag, separate out the sports programs and copies of Entertainment Weekly, finally read all the newspapers I have stored, and that is high I would get through them all. But while I have many good excuses, I saw, in that pile that is now bigger than I am (I have created this monster, the same way that the Republicans have created Donald Trump and his followers), what using all those excuses have carried me to.
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I have to wake up very early in the morning because Mother is obsessed with flying for cheap on Spirit. God. But I have to thank her for letting me use the minivan one final time tomorrow (Saturday) to get to work and then to St. Paul for the tournament final. Hopefully it'll be warm enough on Sunday to finally melt the ice and snow that's encasing my new car, which I have decided to take out of storage instead of the old one; I'll tell you guys more about it later. Let's just say that after working on the old car I checked to see if I could open the doors of the new car through the tarp and cover and ice and snow, and the battery worked, so that's why I just begged Mother for the van and will try like hell to get the new car working. Wish me luck while I resettle after yet another disruption.
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Turns out she did come. She said Thursday, then had to cancel, but she was able to do it late last (Friday) night. Brought her precocious son, too. Just got done touching up the last of the cleaning up, and I think it's just about right -- clean enough for them to not be angry, but not so clean that they get suspicious.
Now, whether that'll impress Mother, who knows?
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