Father is rampage-cleaning the house again. Thought I would show him I was sort-of serious about cleaning, so I actually took time this morning to clean the tub and sink, and to do some cursory picking up and dusting in my bedroom. Didn't seem to matter to him, as he cleaned the upstairs bathroom a second time. Man, if you want me to clean, and then you clean after me, why do I clean?
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As I left for Diamonds, at which I am typing this blog post right now, Father marched up the steps and opened the door to my bedroom, which is something I thought he would do. But he marched up the steps with a mop -- not a Swiffer, but a huge, dirty mop that's been in more dark places than my dick has been, which won't do anything except push things around. And I thought, Ew, my room is going to get dirtier, not cleaner! Now I really want to clean my bedroom with the Swiffer. Which would be ironic justice; he cleans the bathroom after me, so I clean my bedroom after he does.
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While looking through things to throw away to show Father I'm serious about cleaning, I found one of the letters from the county I hadn't yet opened. Glad I did this morning; it was the first bill for my new health insurance. After years of not needing to pay for it, I now have premiums. And it's ... $16 a month. Whew! Thought it would be worse. I can actually pay that and not go into bankruptcy!
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