Well, for some fucking reason, My Fucking Father seems to be on the rampage again.  He let out a pissed-off sigh when I opened the front door because that meant that he had to go around it in order to go through the side door and the back.  And then, while I had the door open, he threw a couple things through the threshold of the door onto the concrete steps of our stoop.  And he didn't acknowledge me the whole time.

Hey, I thought me waking up early and going through my things would sate his petulant attitude.  But then again, he was downstairs this whole time, so maybe that's more than I could ask.  The bottom line, though, is that I shouldn't be letting his attitude dictate my attitude.  If he's being a he-bitch for no reason, that's his problem.  My problem is I'm letting him sour my mood.  I've never been able to not care what he thinks consistently.  Want to work on that.

In the meantime, maybe going to this chick's place for a massage will take my mind off My Fucking Father.  Especially if she'll give me the handjob I think she'll give me.