Sundays Suck When You Don't Have A Job

Actually they kind of blew when I did have a job too because they were supposed to be my last day of rest and peace and quiet and they were always spoiled by my father being my father. Barging in on me when I'm asleep and opening the door because he had the munchies and had to mix two brands of muffins together because he thought it'd taste good. He brought home some filet mignons from the restaurant the other night so I suggested we have them with eggs and toast or something as like a breakfast for dinner last night. He's ranting on like it were a wet dream about how good of an idea it is and how good it will be. So like the first thing he says when I wake up is, we should eat one of these scalloped potatoes with the steak tonight with green beans. His attention span and memory has always amazed me but as he coughs his brains out at all hours of the night I think it's gotten worse. I've already heard twice in the fifteen minutes that I've been awake all about him washing his bed sheets and bleaching his whites this morning. Of course he considers doing his laundry and washing the dish drainer 'cleaning the house' because the cleaning fairy is the one who keeps it up the rest of the week so obviously this is the only time anyone lifts a finger around here. Ugh, I'm fucking going back to sleep.