Well my cousin came home at 2a.m. knocking on the back door. I go and open it and he's standing there looking like that dude from the end scene of the Blair Witch project and smelling like whiskey from 5 feet away. His shirt's stained with blood, his eyes are red and gummy and well he looks like shit. I ask him what happened he tells me "I fought with the dishwasher and LOST! I did beat the first guy bad though". I usher him inside basically dragging him to get him moving not at a slug's pace. He tells me he was in a fight for fun and he's very drunk, can I get him water and ice. I go get that and hear mom start kicking him and asking what's wrong because she thinks he's faking it. I crush some ice put it in a ziplock bag and get him some water and calmly state his shirt is covered in blood if she cares but look so it's obviously not fake and to stop kicking him. She just takes the ice bag and shove it down his shirt and he makes the most lucid face he made all night. He tells us he fought a tournament with his fellow employees. He went against a cook first that messed up his ribs. Then went against the dishwasher which the scarred up face. Now he was completely drunk on whiskey by this point and the scarface dishwasher had just scared his earlier opponent into retiring. The dishwasher beat the crap out of him I thought it was bad last night but he woke up today with everything swollen today and ouch!
Mom's calling him crazy and stupid. Saying his retina might come off if he gets punched in the eye or one of his ribs might snap and puncture his lungs. I'm defending him and telling her she's just paranoid and we sound like parents, he's just sitting there moaning and holding the ice bag. She then goes on to suggest that these fights are barbaric bloody things and he should just play chess tournaments instead. Me and my cousin roar with laughter at this. His ribs hurt so he's laughing in the weirdest way like stopping wincing then laughing and wincing again in quick succession and I'm laughing even harder at that.
I mean there's that and there's that you know I really like playing chess and I've won tournaments. My cousin's built of muscle and goes the the gym though and he's fighting these over 6 feet tall guys that also work out. The image of him playing chess with the scarred musclebound dishwasher just makes me howl in amusement especially because I add a small table and chairs for them to sit and discuss Shakespeare inbetween moves. I got him some more water mom kept criticizing him I kept defending. I didn't mention I get into fights for fun too. I dragged him to his house at like 4a.m. and told him he needed to drive me to school in the morning he just replied with colorful adjectives. I finished school forever this week he's not aware
Also a few nights ago there was some rattling in the yard and the dogs were barking so I go outside with my trusty pick. This is a shitty neighborhood you got a bunch of crack junkies trying to break open your trash or steal things so this is usual ocurrance same with the neighbor beating his wife but anyway. So I'm stalking around the dark with my pickaxe and I run into my uncle with a Cue stick you know from Pool games and my cousin shows up with a flashlight. It made me laugh because it was like a scrap militia muster
I think my faulty microwave is irradiating me. The light doesn't go on, you have to smack it numerous times for it to start up and it's very rusty. I try to stand away from it because it makes me skin tingle and my head feel funny. Today since I'm a more curious than cautious person I just stood there and my head started buzzing and my skin crawling. I also noticed the table it's on heats up too, I need a new microwave.
Speaking of incidents as such I caught a knife with the palm of my hand that wasn't fun too. Bandages suck I managed to stop the bleeding with a wet sock
Then binded it and flicked the blood into a burning candle and mixed it with perfume into a shifting flaming pillar which boiled into the night and stained everything around it with soot and red waxy residue. I found it rather enthralling and interesting, I mean blood's red and it has iron, mixing it with boiling burning wax has to do something interesting or just burn which would still be enthralling for me.I went to the plant fair and that was really fun. I got a bunch of different herbs, some carnivorous plants and fruit trees. I pushed a wheelchair about belonging to a friend of my grandpa and we joked about. The pavement was really not wheelchair capable so I kept going "ALL TERRAIN WHEELCHAIR GO!" *rattle rattle shake shake* and the old man would laugh and help with the wheels. I carried a notebook and noted where were the plants I wanted and their name. Mom was annoying going ahead and slipping through a crowd of people then going "COME OVER!".
No I don't know where the hell the considerate people went that day but the people there wouldn't part for the wheelchair so "come over now" is basically asking us to go to the moon now. My hands got red and raw because as I said the pavement was mangled broken pavement and usually inclined so I was regulating the chair the entire time and my passenger wasn't exactly lightweight but all good fun
Which brings us to the point of the story. We bought some fruit trees. I dug 4 deep holes with a pickaxe. When I would stop to rest I'd water or observe plants or play with the dogs and give them affection.
Mom was getting on my nerves as always because she doesn't do anything. Her job, responsibility, hobby, duty is to stand next to people and tell them to do what they're already doing or order them around. I'm dragging the hose out. She's following me and going "Drag the hose out, keep dragging it, drag it all the way". I'm like no shit I'm just going to stop dragging it right now. Apparently sarcasm doesn't register because she goes "No drag it out all the way I need to water the plants in the back!". I'm sorry but I like doing things myself, I don't like being supervised especially if it's just to repeat the same thing and tell me how to do things your way, I can get it done my own way. I really believe that if you want things done your way you should do them yourself.
She's like a type A personality with a perfectionist dominance complex and enough paranoia for 3 conspiracy theorists. I'm a type B personality with a "We get by with what we have" pragmatic, introspective, submissive until provoked, the media is all bullshit fear mongering and a Let's just enjoy life and help others enjoy theirs outlook. We do not mix at all and we fight constantly especially when all she likes to talk about is mercury in the water, homosexual rapists, the economy crashing, talking about other people, racist remarks, the sun giving us cancer.. actually everything giving us cancer basically and the world being wrong and her right. She's going about that she cares well I'm sorry she does more harm than the people who actually try.
I mean she tried to bust my door in this morning. I woke up because she's knocking louder than for it to be polite. I get scantly dressed and open the door. She's like "Take out the trash it hasn't been taken out!". I just reply "In a bit" and she's like "NO IT NEEDS TO BE TAKEN OUT NOW, IT NEEDS TO BE TAKEN OUT OR I CAN'T DO ANYTHIIING!" to which I simply state then "You can take it out yourself then" and slowly close the door and start getting dressed. She starts screaming like the damned outside that it has to be now, beating on the door and yelling my name. I'm going to take it out, I'm just getting dressed. I just won't reply to the violence. "I WON'T TAKE ANYTHING OUT, YOU DO IT! She then starts beating the door and telling me to wake up and take the trash out RIGHT THIS FUCKING INSTANT. Until she's making the door actually bend inwards with each kick or punch. Now this actually gave me pause because I was actually worried about opening the door, I had the mental image she was foaming in the mouth on the other side. Her vowels were actually screeches. You know that whole energy in beating my door down and screaming herself hoarse with obscenity might've been put to better use carrying a trash bag 25 feet and opening two doors. Of course I'm the slave that gets woken up, interrupted, recalled by yells like a dog from the backyard when I'm doing something. To do pointless mundane things like that because she is *completely incapable*. I get called from cutting the lawn in the backyard or eating to hand her the remote that's across the living room when she's sitting on the sofa. Well anyhow I did tell her it was well within my rights to call the cops if she pulled more violent shit like that and she cooled off. Stuff like this actually happens on a basis too. Well wow that was a rant I apologize.
This was all the unfinished floating stuff I had noted down. I threw it all together for reasons you will soon find out.
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