So I'm walking around the mall, and all of a sudden on a bench near Sears or K-Mart or whatever the fuck there's this naked chick! And she looks so familiar, like I've seen her in porn or something somewhere else. And she's very, very good looking. Pretty close to being just what I want. And what does she do? She motions over to me! Yeah, I'm shuffling around in slippers and old, torn up, grey jogging pants, but she motions me over and starts talking to me, and wants me bad! But as I'm sitting there... well hell, there must just be something about my outfit, because other good looking, NORMAL girls start coming up to me and starting conversations. I felt like I was the last guy on earth until I noticed the guys from Radio Shack marching around on strike. The store was completely barren, they apparently were protesting the fact that the place went broke. But, I just made some incredibly witty comments and had absolutely everyone laughing. Men envied me, women wanted me... wow, I could have gone on like that forever.
Or at least for a couple more hours.
That's what I would have liked to do, anyhow. That's not what happened. Before I knew it, there's this voice pulling me from what was obviously a dream to anyone who wasn't living it.
"Get the fuck up and shovel Mary's car out of the driveway!"
"Huh? What?"
"Didn't you hear me, stupid? Get your fucking ass out of bed and go shovel some damn snow! I have to go to work."
My father's a charming man, really.
Fuck.
So I leave the warm comforts of my bed to shovel some fucking snow. And you know, it's not just a little, either. It's a nice plow load, up to near my waist, and in fact the pile that was left after my shoveling was above my head. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First I get all dressed up to go out there, and really, thankfully it isn't that cold... but when I look out the window I see something that shouldn't ever be a surprise. There's Mary, my dad's fuckbag, just standing there, without a clue of what's going on. So what's she going to do here, direct me? Thankfully no. She got about two scoopfuls of white stuff out of the way, which in itself was amazing. She stumbled around a little, slipped and slided, and finally mentioned something about her mittened hands being cold and wandered back into the house.
Super.
But hey, at least this way I could start that stream of obscenities that was twirling through my head coming out my mouth now. And boy did they flow! It was more of a jet-stream than a flow, really. I suppose I just couldn't see why *I* was out there. If this was my fuckbag, sure, no problem. If she knew how to do *anything* around the house, well, maybe. I mean, the chick can't do dishes, what's that about? You know, I wouldn't have had a problem doing it if that meant she was leaving... for good. Hell, if that was the case then I would have shoveled up and down the fucking street. Shit, I would have shoveled my ass to China if I thought it'd get rid of her. And I thought, well but what do I do around the house? And really it was a matter of what I don't do than what I do. I don't get in anyone's way. I don't cause trouble anyone knows about. I don't break things. I don't piss on the floor. I don't cost much extra money... only in showers do I think maybe I contribute negatively to the bills... defintely not in food because there's never anything to eat so I just don't. Oh, and I pay half the phone bill, usually more. I don't want anything for Christmas from my dad. Fuck, I know parents who would kill their own child to have a son like me. I don't make messes, I do clean up after myself. I don't criticize my dad directly to him for things I obviously should because A) it wouldn't make a difference, when he wants my opinion he gives it to me and B) all it ever does it angry someone up... usually him.
So what does all that equal up to?
Me shoveling out the car of a crazy alcoholic bitch, getting more and more tender and sore by the moment, tensing up and angry when I should be in bed... dreaming the impossible dream of admiration and outright sexiness in slob clothes. Dreaming that someday, somewhere I'd be more than a scapegoat and a snowblower. And you know, it's not like I get dreams like this every night either, they're actually kind of rare.
Why the fuck can't he interrupt me when I'm having a nightmare?