My Thoughts On Who To Root For In The Stanley Cup And NBA Finals

I have no interest in seeing the Stanley Cup Finals.  Out of principle, I don't watch a postseason once my team, in this case the Wild, are eliminated.  It hurts too much.  (This may be paradoxical, but if my team doesn't make a playoffs, I am more than happy to watch the whole thing ... with exceptions, of course.  If my team can't even make the postseason, that means my team didn't even have a chance of winning that Year's title, so I cannot have any bitterness over what could have been.  Does that make sense?)

Beyond that, though, I don't care how intriguing this matchup has become after Games 1 and 2 have both featured stunning comebacks and late Goals.  The Vegas Golden Knights are in their third Stanley Cup Finals and they're only nine years old.  They were given the most generous and bountiful birth of any expansion team in North American sports, immediately seeding their roster with stars and upside role players and parlaying them into a Stanley Cup Finals birth in their first Year.  And they have continued to cash in on the excessively valuable assets they were given, trading those away for a bumper crop of promising youngsters and aging role players, thus giving them a higher ceiling that few other teams in the NHL have, let alone were given.  And that's why I refer to them as Team Privilege, or Team Third Base.

On top of that, their starting, starring Goaltender, Carter Hart, was one of four people accused of gang raping a drugged-out women several years ago.  The Canadian judge let him off the hook, and he hooked up with the Golden Knights, and he's playing very well, thus proving that there is no God.  Oh, and he is a supporter of this separatist movement in the Canadian province of Alberta.  And on top of all that, the owner of the Vegas Golden Knights demands that his franchise is not named the Las Vegas Golden Knights, purportedly because "Las" sounds too close to "loss."  Putz.

Meanwhile, The Carolina Hurricanes have a boss, Tom Dundon, who may be riding high on the success of his hockey team, but is curiously thinning the workforce of the NBA team he owns, The Portland Trail Blazers.  He sounds creepily close to all these tech bros who think their achievement and moxie in their industry means they know everything and must be allowed to do anything, even if it means taking the livelihoods of people who just want to put food on the table.  Sounds like an asshole.  Oh ... also, The Carolina Hurricanes were stolen from the good people of Hartford, and The Hartford Whalers' famous fight song, "Brass Bonanza," has been adopted for North Carolina.  As hoary a form of cultural appropriation you can get without lasting consequences for civilization and society.

So, Team Third Base vs. The Bastard Hartford Whalers?  I choose death.

Meanwhile, my feelings for which team is winning the NBA Finals are so mixed up that I can't accurate describe them.  I know that I should hate The San Antonio Spurs because they beat my Minnesota Timberwolves, and loyalty demands that I wish evil upon those who've wronged me.  On the other side, Karl-Anthony Towns, who was loyal to the T-Wolves until the point the organization stopped being loyal to him and traded him, has a chance to win a championship with the team he was traded to, The New York Knicks.  I think he's a good guy, and I want to see him happy and successful.  And I saw what Jalen Brunson did at the end of Game 1's Win; that dude has big balls, and I really respect that, too.

So why do I catch myself rooting for the Spurs and rooting against the Knicks?  Those are two different questions that demand two different answers.  I don't know him, but it feels as though Victor Wenbanyama is a good dude who's still learning how to play in the NBA.  I like the really tall kid.  And on the other side, when the Knicks made big shot after big shot to pull out a Game 1 upset at San Antonio, I saw Knicks fans in the San Antone crowd cheer, this well of hate rises up within me.  Dammit, man, New York City sports fans are insufferable.

Such a jumble of preferences may drive a man mad.  But I'll try and tease this out.  I'm not specifically hoping that the Spurs will win, but I do hope that Wemby wins.  Meanwhile, I want to see KAT win one championship ... but I don't care about the Knicks franchise or Knicks fans winning a championship.  Hey, I need to compartmentalize if I am supposed to analyze Game 2's broadcast with any sort of objectivity.

With all that said, I plan on going to that Prince celebration concert tonight/Friday night, so I will likely miss Game 2.  Shucks.

Can't Believe I'm Talking About The Jynx Game For The Third Time, But ...

... remind me to never buy a ticket to this team until they win a championship again.  I had a great seat, but then I had a great seat to see a chokejob up close.  Goddamn, I'm still so fucking mad.  Just glad af that the ticket was free.

Hooters Ain't The Only One

I swear there has been a rash of restaurant closings this year that I lament.  They don't hurt as much as Hooters, of course.  And honestly, I have been trying to come up with a list, but can't think of too many.  I've already talked about the Taco Bell that was near me.  (By the way, nothing has gone in in its place yet.  Taco Bell disappeared, furnishings and signage and all, in a day, but that place has remained empty for weeks now.  The hell?)

The one that comes to mind right now is the local Subway.  When I was in high school, the place where it was, located at a strip mall not too far away from the high school, was the place to be, sad as it might seem now.  But it was dependable and good enough, and so that's where we all went (and for me, to get those stamps you lick and stick on those cards in order to get a free sub).

What the owners of that place more than several years ago was move to an even bigger place across the street.  That's investment, and I love that.  It was clean, and I was treated well every time I went there.  Unfortunately, it was empty too much of the time.  I wanted to go there more often, but there are so many other places to eat out, both in the fast food and the fancy lanes.  I tried to support them whenever I had the urge to, but it wasn't enough.  A few weeks ago, when I drove by during the day, I didn't see their "OPEN" light on and there was no car outside.  And maybe last week, all the Subway signage was taken down.  I feel sad because it feels as though the owner took a risk based on previous success, but whether it was the bigger size of the restaurant, the new location, something else, or all of the above, it, well, backfired.

And even though it's not my responsibility because I can't eat out every single day or else I'll go broke, I worry about the places I eat out at going under.  There's that speakeasy I haven't been to since March Madness.  It's expensive to go there, but I still want it to be around when I want to go there.  And there's a mom-and-pop panaderia close by me.  Their pastries and croissants and baked goods are fantastic, and the layout looks lush and wonderful, and I barely see anyone whenever I go there.  I hate to come across it one day and see it gone.  But again, I'm not made out of money.  What can I do?

I blame Trump.  Seriously, with all the shit he's done in order to line his pockets, I think it's sensible to blame his corrupt ass.

Gift Wrapping Is An Unlearnable Skill And A Niche Industry

So it's my niece's birthday.  For once I was proactive in getting the gifts.  The problem now is that I don't know how to wrap them.  I think I had done it while I was really young, but back then I realized how much I sucked at it, so I had Mother do it, or, to be quite honest, I didn't buy a gift at all.  That's right -- I learned not to buy gifts because I didn't learn the art of gift wrapping.

But I'm a grown-up now, and I have a niece to whom I want to show love, so I have to buy presents.  I have been able to avoid this situation because I would always send the presents (in the name of myself and my parents) to her mother/my sister-in-law, who knows how to wrap gifts.  But over the holidays she basically that she was done with all that.  I don't think she meant just me having her wrap gifts.  I think she meant being my brother's wife.  But I don't know that.  But I won't bring it up either.  Bottom line -- I am now on my own when it comes to getting gifts wrapped.

Where in the hell can I go in this town to have this done for me?  Hell, where do I even find just one damn box to put these gifts in?  A couple times a long, long time ago I got them wrapped at, of all place, the Rosedale customer service department.  Hell if I know how they did it, but the people who helped you find out where in the mall to go had this set-up where you could walk up to them, give them gifts that needed to be boxed and wrapped, and they'd do it.  That remains a mind-blowing thing a mall just offers to do, and year-round, not just for the holidays.  Alas, it is a bygone feature of their customer service; they say on their website that they don't do that anymore.

There is one store in the Twin Cities that says they just do gift wrapping.  I left them a message but haven't heard back.  There was also, I believe, a company that picks up and drops off gifts.  That seems way too complicated for my need to have someone find a box and wrap my gifts up in it, but come to think of it, having a brick and mortar spot just for that service probably makes no sense.  Regardless, I e-mailed them -- no response.

Shit, man, I have to do this myself.  I'm now reduced to shopping for boxes.  (I looked in the seldom-opened closet right next to my bedroom; there is wrapping paper in there.)  But wait!  How about a gift bag?  I don't need to wrap anything then; I'll just throw them in a bag, then put some fancy-ish tissue paper on it so my niece can't just peer into the bag and see what I bought her.  I need to buy a bag, but at least there are bags to be bought, unlike boxes!  And I won't get frustrated over cutting out too little wrapping paper, or butchering the folding and taping.  Yeah, gift bags -- that's the ticket!

So I need to buy all that stuff after I wake up.  Hopefully I won't fuck this up.  But maybe I will.

We could get not one, not two, but three shots of winter weather this week ... and there are chances for ice in all of them, beginning tonight/Wednesday night?  Yeah, fuck winter, and fuck ice.  And oh yeah, fuck ICE, too.  I gotta go to bed.

Bracketology 2026

Man, I used to really love watching the Selection Show.  But then they crammed the fucking Play-In Games down our throats, and then Turner got their shit-ass hands on half the tournament, and then Chuck Barkley and Jet Smith started commentating on it even though they haven't done fuck-all about talking college hoops up till then, and then half of the tournament Games were put on cable, and then they spread out tipoff times so that there's only Game coming down to the wire at a time and if that Game is boring there's no reason to watch, and then CBS stopped whipping around to the best Game happening at that time (and this is the worst decision that was made, and it is fucking unforgivable) ... and now I don't care.  I might just plow the rest of the driveway then.  Or, I might just sleep through the show.  I don't care.

Anyway, as of press time, Bracket Matrix has aggregated the following teams into the following categories.  Teams are listed in order:

The REAL Last Teams In: UCF, Texas A&M, N. C. St., Santa Clara

Play-In Games: Missouri, Miami (OH), SMU, Texas

Actually, They're The LAST Teams Out: San Diego St., Auburn, Oklahoma, Indiana

"Preparing" For The Biggest Goddamn Snowstorm I've Ever Seen

So this is the literal calm before the storm.  What began brewing Sunday turned, around Thursday, into something big, real big.  And unfortunately for me, the track began curving upward.  Unless I've interpreted things wrong, this blizzard is going to be a direct hit right on top of us.  Two motherfuckin' feet are possible.  What we probably should call The Ides Of March Blizzard might top The Halloween Blizzard of 1991, and that fuckin' storm is affixed in lore.  And even if it's not, it looks like we're clearing a foot here easily, and I don't remember the last time a blizzard that huge has ever registered with me (and that includes The Halloween Blizzard of 1991; I was just a kid who had no cares then).

So ... what to do?  I am bemused by everyone rushing out to do grocery shopping before it hits, which should come in around dinnertime and might not relent for 24 hours thereafter.  Come on, guys, this isn't the Siege Of Leningrad here.  It's going to be bad, and it might be historically bad, but it's only one day ... well, maybe a day and a half, tops.  You should have enough food now to get you through, and if you don't, frankly, you live in a bad situation beyond this blizzard.

With all that said -- well, I looked outside and, like I said, it's calm.  It's just a late-winter day out there -- overcast, too cold for my liking, but otherwise a day that you can travel without incident.  A part of me wants to hunker down and let the snowstorm do what it wants, but that does not sit well with the other part of me.  I will go out, and I probably will twice. I need to dump this trash, get some cash for my stripper girlfriends, and then probably grab lunch.  Later, I might check in and see this band, then probably get dinner to go before the storm kicks in.  It's not going to be horrible until overnight, but I want to be hunkered down before I even touch a flake.  And see, even I am beginning to feel like I want to "prepare" before the storm hits, even if it's just having an empty trash can to begin this storm.

I'm scared.  I'll admit that.  I just went into my backyard to make sure there's no hole in the roof or something.  I just feel that something bad will happen alongside this blizzard because it feels like my lot in life.  Maybe the worst plausible thing I can think of is that the snowblower won't work.  If it doesn't, I might not be working Monday.

I'm starting to understand why people panic-shop at the grocery store now.

I should go now.  Well, I'll juice this lemon, then go.  I think I'll need a cocktail after looking out from my window tonight.

This Grocery Store Is Pissing Me Off, Man. ...

So there's a grocery store close by me that my family has gone to ever since I can remember.  For people who will never pass up a bargain, I don't know why they frequent this mom-and-pop, boutique grocery store.  Don't get me wrong -- their stuff is great, and there are some things I can get there that we would have to travel a ways to buy elsewhere.  But knowing my parents, they would not go to this grocery store.  But make no mistake; they still do.

And I do.  It's convenient.  It also makes this great chili that I see more and more as dinner.  If I want to make a steak, or if I need onions and peppers to spruce up my spaghetti sauce, I go there instead of the bigger chains around town.  Like I said, their stuff is great.  Finally, I noticed that these guys compare favorable with Aldi for cheapest prices for plastic bottles of pop, which I need almost as much as water.  I would have to pay 30, 40, even 50 cents more than I do at this place.

OK, so this is how they pissed me off yesterday/Sunday.  I wanted chili, and I wanted to buy a plastic bottle of pop.  I also wanted to see if they were still running their $1 deal for Mr. Pibb, which is a decent soda, but I really wanted one just because their bottles are a buck apiece.  So I went there for the first time in, I think, over a month.

Well, first of all, that promotional deal for Mr. Pibb is over.  Beyond that, their big change, which I saw my last visit there, was that they installed a new rewards system.  Before, I was given this paper card with our number.  We either showed the cashier our card or gave him or her our number.  After we accrued enough points, we would get five bucks off automatically.  But on my last visit, I saw these brand-spankin' new cash registers, and I was told that the old rewards program was killed off, utterly.  In its place is this system whereby, instead of issuing cards with numbers, we registered with our phone number; they track points and after a certain number, we get a discount.  It might be five bucks, I don't remember.  But the first stupid thing is that the points we accrued up till then are gone.  It's a brand new system, fuck your points.

To make up for it, I guess, we were automatically given three bucks off our next purchase after our initial visit upon which we registered.  That next purchase was yesterday/Sunday.  So once I was ready to pay, I asked the cashier where the discount was.  That's when she explained to me that no discount is automatically rung up at the cash register, like the old program did.  Instead, we were e-mailed a Quick Response (QR) code.  I guess we had to go into our phone, look for that e-mail, and scan it, or something.

I tried looking for it since there was no one behind me.  But (and maybe I should blog post about this sometime) using search functions on your email applications on your phone sucks.  They don't find shit.  And I couldn't find it, so I had to just pay full price for my chili and bottle of Pepsi and go.

I didn't think at the time I even got a QR code.  But I did.  Once I got home, I realized that as part of signing up for this new rewards program, you give them permission to e-mail you.  I did find the e-mail where the code was.  Also, and unfortunately, the cashier said that this $3 dollar new program discount lasted only for a month after registration.  And in that e-mail, conveniently, I saw the expiration date of ... four days prior.  I couldn't use that discount even if I were able to find it when I was there.

That really pisses me off, it really does.  I was used to these guys doing everything, but now more of the work, especially the part where I am responsible for keeping up on my discounts, falls on me, and I don't like that change.  So maybe I'll drive down to Cub to get my chili from now on, and maybe I'll then stop by Aldi for my pop.  Because I don't like getting screwed like this, and I did get screwed.

Goddamn, they murdered another one.  They don't care.  He was no threat, but they say he was a threat, and because we have some stupid, stupid people living in this country, they're going to get away with it.

I'm even more scared now.  Truth doesn't matter anymore.  It's not that people aren't hearing past the lies.  There is a significant population in America, in my humble opinion, that don't care about facts.  They will believe any bullshit that comes out of any motherfucker from this installed administration because they want to hear what they are hearing.

I have to ask again: How is non-violence going to get us out of this?

Of All The Times I Needed A Half-Day ...

Getting yesterday/Tuesday afternoon off turned out to be a godsend.  I woke up from my evening nap Monday night at around 11:45 p.m., so I didn't get a wink of sleep through the overnight.  With my body dragging, me spending the morning cutting open packages and dealing with a particularly nasty leaked bag of piss, and seeing my city still being besieged by our own federal "government," I was so looking forward to not working in the same afternoon we were all supposed to walk out.  I was even assigned to data entry, but I didn't do it; instead, I worked on figuring out this new software we are supposed to know in a couple weeks.

And I didn't make much headway into that, either.  No, I was into doing ... nothing.  Well, I take that back; I had a lot of chores I felt I had to do.  I had to:

• use my haircut coupon before it expired;
• get my photo taken for passport purposes;
• buy groceries to hunker down for this cold, cold weekend we're about to have;
• finally drag some stuff out of my storage unit
• and do something for Mother at the bank

Now, come to think of it, I was really busy, and productive.  I didn't finish all of these things before 2 p.m., which was the scheduled time we were all supposed to "walk out," but around 2:30 I shut the door with no intention of opening it unit this/Wednesday morning.  I took a shower and then, while fully naked, settled into my bed because my body was finally tired.

And I woke up around 8:30.  Wow!  Five hours of hard sleep to reset my body.  Felt really, really good, even if this continues to throw my body clock out of whack.  And my "slangriness" has completely left me.  The anxiety over these people abducting me, however and unfortunately, remains.

Apparently, They're Here

None of these reports are verified, but I have seen on websites and heard from friends of mine that they are in the neighborhood now.  One said they're going door to door.  I saw a video taken at the trailer park nearby that shows two guys wearing winter masks, those fuckers.

I've downloaded transcription and recording applications, just in case.  I kind of wish I have a dashcam now, but, well, it may be too late for that.

I am trying to balance my fear of getting round up in all of this with my need to stand up to bullies -- for my neighbors, for my community, for my state, for the good people governing it, and for myself.  Frankly, though, I don't know if I can do it.  I have thought about texting my brother, at least letting him know that these assholes are in the area.  You know, just in case.

So afraid going out the past few days.  Am glad I was still able to see my friend without getting hassled.  But with this fascist vice tightening, there's no telling if, for example, I'll get stopped on the way to work.

Goddamn this world.

Hate Zynga Poker (Right Now)

The last two times I've played Zynga Poker I busted.  And both times I played in order to avoid relegation back down to Stage III.  That's probably an inevitability now.  And to think I used some coins to get up to the $2 billion minimum to play Omaha, which is the way I play now because of the easier format and the potential billions you can "make" in a short period of time.  I lost it all in a short period of time, that's what I did.  Hate this.

Oh, Just Leave Me And My Shit Alone

You know, giving me tea is OK, especially if it's sweet as the lemon-flavored one Father's given me a couple times over the past couple weeks.  But he gave the tea to me because he thought I was coughing too much.  The first time yes, the second time no.

And yes, I have thought from time to time that I could use a light cord in my closet so I could actually look through my clothing.  I didn't ask My Fucking Father for one.  Now I know that he went through my closet.  Why the fuck would he be going through my closet?  He would not know at all that I can't light the light in my closet without opening it and going through my shit.  So that scares the fucking daylights out of me.  I can't shove my cum towel in there anymore because one day, he'll see fit to look through my closet just because he has fuck all to do and see my cum towel.

All these two motherfuckers have done is break every boundary I have and done things within my circle of privacy that is up to me alone.  This goes beyond meaning well.  This is them thinking they can do whatever they want with me and my stuff because they have no respect for me.  I guess I could punch them, but they'll be leaving soon, so maybe I'll just say good riddance to their meddling asses.

(And yes, I take back all the good things I said about them in this blog post.  For now.)

Stranger's Shit

When I went to Mariucci Friday afternoon I needed to pee.  Like the arena, but they still have fucking troughs, and I'll be goddamned if I ever have to use one.  Luckily there weren't too many people there, so I just went into one of the open stalls and FUCKING GODDAMMIT, there was floating piece of feces in the toilet.  And it was yellow and brown and everything.  Some motherfucker just didn't care to flush, Jesus fucking Christ.

I'll be honest: It kind of ruined the rest of my day.  I was watching the hockey Games, and I got obsessed with what I wanted to buy there.  But FUCKING GODDAMMIT, I flashed back to that piece of shit in the toilet.  The last time I saw something like that was at Lafayette Coney Island in Detroit when I was there the last weekend Tiger Stadium was open, and my pure OCD makes me flash back to that piece of shit I saw from time to time (even though the water was clear, for some fucking reason).  Goddammit, people are just fucking gross and rude!!!

Fuck it.  Fuck it all.  If we can invade a country and kidnap a President just because, there really are no rules anymore.  (Well, there haven't really been rules since 2000, but you know what I mean.)  So let's stop playing by rules that don't exist anymore.  If they can do it, we can do it.  Why not?  Only they're doing it for oil and money and power, and when we do it -- and we better be doing it when we get a chance to do it -- it's because we're ridding the world of evil.  That's the difference between us.  And right now, that's all that fucking matters.

And after lunch today My Father told me to clear the driveway of snow.  I don't know if we even got half an inch.  But I cleared it anyway, even though I really, really wanted to not even step foot outside to begin the New Year.

Fuck what I said before.  I can't wait for them to leave.

Fuck Fantasy Football

I know there's a Game tonight, but I have fucking crashed out in all three of my fantasy football leagues, and it's fucking demoralizing.

The one most important to me, the one I have money on, I lost last week.  It was the worst combination of my opponent overachieving and my team underachieving, and of fucking course it happens during the playoffs.  And this week my other two teams, including the one I'm commish in, fucking shat the bed.  Both of my opponents had Ashton Jeanty, who fucking went buckwild on my ass, unfortunately.  I have a ghost of a chance on one of them because I have Brock Purdy, but no, there's no hope.

Besides the league I'm commissioner in, I have not won once.  Why do I keep fucking playing?  Why do I keep fucking torturing myself with all this goddamn losing?

Bad Driver: TCS 729

Wow, I haven't had to deal with crazy motherfuckers like you on the road in a long time.  And unfortunately you wanted to let everyone know you could conquer the snow like a man when I was trying to get to work.  I don't remember anyone cutting in right around me that closely in a long time, if not ever.  And when you started tapping your brake and flipping me off (at least that's what I thought you were doing; I couldn't see your bitch ass finger all that clearly in the snow, boy), I began to realize that you might be on fucking drugs.  Who the fuck else does crazy shit like that on a county highway at 8 on a Friday morning while snow's falling?

Then, I rolled up behind you on the left turn lane.  I didn't think you were crazy enough to cut in front of someone on the right lane that was going straight through the intersection and then make a left turn before we had our green light or the traffic coming straight the other way had theirs, but maybe you're on some insane shit.  Or, you were afraid of me.  One of the two.

Bravo, though, you piece of shit.  I was calm enough to lift the license plate of your Honda sedan.  God, I hope I never, ever see you again, you dangerous fucking asshole.

Nothing Like The Thanksgiving Spirit Like A False Accusation

I've decided I need to use my heater, so today/Thursday/Thanksgiving Day, after lunch (there's turkey, but we had pizza!), I had to go into what is now Mother's bedroom to find it.  I store it there during the summer.  Well, I thought I did, but that was before my folks rearranged that room and in so doing threw away all my stuff without my goddamn permission.

Anyway, I went looking throughout that room and couldn't find it.  That finally got the attention of Mother, who asked me what I was doing.  When I told her, she asked Father, who said he'd look later (presumably after Thanksgiving dinner), and if he couldn't find it, he'll buy one for me.  Sure, pops.  And that's not what I want. But this is My Fucking Father being an asshole.

One of my parental units asked me if the heater was in my room, to which I replied if it were in my room, I wouldn't be looking in a place other than my room.  But, well, I checked my room ... and sure enough, I should have looked on the other side of my chair, right in front of my desk, and underneath this box.  That's where the heater is.  Whoops.

I had to tell them I found it.  I have to take the hit.  If they want to give me more attitude, I want to tell them that I accused them of "having it" because the source of all my shortcomings in my life is also because of them.  Still, Father probably did not take it well when I said I found it in my room when I answered he/her/them that of course it wasn't in my room.  Let's hope Thanksgiving dinner at about 4 o'clock or so is convivial, or at least not passive-aggressively hostile.

You Know, I Don't Think My Parents Are Sleeping Together Anymore

By that I mean literally sleeping together, not, um, figuratively (barf)

Like I've said, Mother isn't perfect, but she can walk good now.  I haven't seen her negotiate the stairs all that much, but while she takes it slow, she seems to not have an issue with walking up or down.  The exercises she needs to concentrate on now have to do with adjusting the body while isolating her new knee and putting stresses on her joints (not just her new knee) -- standing up from a chair, high kicks on stairs, stuff like that.

I say this to say that she shouldn't have too much trouble now going up and down the stairs, and down the stairs is where the master bedroom and bathroom are.  That's also where Father ends up after we have dinner.  We all split up: Him to his bedroom, me to my bedroom, and Mother to her bedroom ... which is not the same bedroom as Father's.  Anticipating that she would be incapacitated after knee surgery, they decided that they would turn my former bedroom back into a bedroom where Mother would sleep in as she recuperates.  It's upstairs (we have a split-level) because that's where the kitchen and her sewing machine is.  As long as she was confined to walking on one level, it had to be the one where she can eat and spend her hours at her hobbies.

So that was a few weeks ago.  I assumed it would be temporary, that once she was able to walk up and down stairs without too much pain, she would rightfully move back in with Father in the master bedroom.  No, that hasn't happened yet.  The few times I checked up on her, she is in her bed (it's my bed frame; while this may have been the reason she took my bed, her knee surgery was used by My Fucking Parents as an excuse to toss all the stuff that was important to me, and now I'm getting all pissed the fuck off again, so I'll move on), her pillows arranged how she wants, watching her videos on her streaming box.  She's happy as a clam in her own room.  Moreover, my sister, when she was here, asked if she wanted to move back downstairs once my sister thought Mother could walk down the stairs without too much difficulty.  Mother said no, at least for the time being, because she felt that she would make too much noise and wake Father up if and when she needed to get out of bed in the middle of the night and shuffle to the master bathroom to pee.  Two things about that.  Would that worry change now that she can walk instead of shuffle?  And since she can walk, why wouldn't she move back downstairs and bug Father like usual when she does get up to pee?  It's how they've been living all this time anyway, right?

So it's that second point I want to hone in on.  I'm starting to get the feeling that Mother actually likes her own bedroom.  Why wouldn't she?  She has the whole room to herself so she can do whatever she wants.  And I believe Father snores, and she likes that she doesn't have to hear him snoring.  If she does enjoy sleeping alone, that probably means Father likes sleeping alone as well.  He isn't getting woken up by Mother when she needs to pee, of course.  The only worry Mother has is that Father, who is getting up there in age, won't have someone around him if he falls, Buddha forbid.

I would like Mother to move back down, not gonna lie.  That way I can have the bathroom all to myself.  I don't have to move around the bathmat in case she trips over it.  I can also arrange my shampoo and toothbrush to where I want it.  Finally, I want the upper part of the house to myself in case I don't want to put any clothes on if I need to get up from my bed and shuffle into the bathroom to pee.  However, if this separate bedrooms thing is permanent, and if both parental units are going to be here for a while, this is a New Normal I really, really won't like.