YESTERDAY WAS WEIRD.
mom and dad had a quarrel and all was mashed up. mom rummaged everything in dad's closet and complained about the chaotic picture it had been in years. ( since dad had a closet, he never got time or just don't bother improving its condition. and i already accepted this fact, that dad is plain messy with his stuffs. sometimes i even bother myself and clean his mess. but i also accepted that its normal condition won't last long. (or should i say what's normal is what's messy.) one minute it's tidy, the next minute it'll be as disordered as before the moment dad will enter his room again. i had long before faced this fact. and i just can't understand why my mom can't accept this. they've been living for how many years i lost count already, yet she can't bare or get used to dad's scattered human nature?
what my mom did?
she threw out everything in my dad's closet while loudly complaining about it, about everything in my dad's room. the best part was that after her feat, she wanted us, her placid children, watching peacefully at the living room, TO CLEAN HER MESS! wasn't it unfair?? she did all the messing, the venting, tired herself out and in the end she got nothing from it. and now she wanted us to clean it?? this so injustice! i do mop floors, but i don't mop floors which is deliberately messed up by someone else!
it's a real fact that my mom has a FRAUD obsessive compulsive disorder. a genuine OC kind of person can't stand disorder no matter how little or big it is. she just can't. she easily gets irritated with just a site of pillows not in proper place. my mom is otherwise, she can sleep even the bed sheet is not properly tucked in. she can stand an unwashed piles of dishes in the sink, she can bare the site of clothes not folded for three days after it was washed.... and that's what she self-proclaimed with her self being OC?? hell no!!!
let's get back to what happen to us downtrodden children. so my mom COMMAND us, (let me use the term because my mom is embodying the hard as a nut fact that she's the drama queen of the house that day. that we are her humble and submissive servants and we are subjects to her irrational tyranny. i hate to include my dad but most of the time it appears so.) to clean her mess. so as ever faithful and obedient servants, we folded the clothes, placed them properly in place, and cleaned the room. we did all these to satisfy her majesty, to materialize her OCness, to boost her ego, to prove her domineering, to justify that we are just the waifs she happened to have mercy to and that it should be our humble pleasure and be grateful that she laid her merciful eyes on us.
this is the best part:
after we folded the clothes, the dog entered the room and started playing with us. (aba, the royal dog stepped down from his thrown and reached out to the commoners.) but, since he would be a distraction to our work, we pushed him out of the room but just when he's heading out. the majesty in all her her flaring nostrils and inflaming eyes almost protruding out of her veins, stepped in to the room and KICKED ALL THAT WE FOLDED AND STARTED COMPLAINING WHY WE LET THE DOG GET IN TO THE ROOM!
long narration of sufferings will be continued later, clamoring hypothalamus hampers writing progress.
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