Oh, my fucking God. I help My Fucking Father decrypt this home insurance claim tonight (well, Tuesday night) and afterwards he just goes off on me, talking about going back to school or finding a job. And he pulls out the old shit he has about me -- not cleaning my room, waking up in the middle of the night, "not doing a schedule," whatever the fuck that means. And then he did what I was afraid he'd do, namely passive-aggressively complain about not cleaning up the house when they went to Las Vegas for two weeks. Man, I know it was too good to be true.
He also bitched about me leaving the house, so what did I do after that? Leave the house. I don't give a fuck if he warned me not to. I had to, after that bullshit coming out of his mouth. Piss on My Fucking Father, he doesn't live the life I live, and he doesn't have the anxieties I have. I told Mother I was going to work out. I should have told her I was going to a bar to get a drink.
Fucking asshole.
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