Does the cleanliness of my room really matter that much to life? I absolutely despise how my dad thinks that just because everything's not on the floor it's not still a mess. Is it worth yelling at me about EVERY OTHER DAY? Ugh ugh ugh. Maybe it doesn't seem like this should be a big deal, but I just can't deal with my dad like at all. Could I just like, do things my own way please? My thoughts were so much more coherent a minute ago, but now not so much. I'd managed to calm down for a bit and was doing some work, and not feeling like crap and whatnot but then my dad just found it necessary to come in and ruin that. I have to get out of here. It's just like... none of this matters to life. I know how I would organize things if my dad didn't find it necessary to be a pain all the time.
He complains, also, about how he "just cleaned your room, and then you messed it up!" You know what? I didn't ask you to fucking clean my room. I asked you NOT to clean my room. And then you complain that I'm not appreciating your unwanted and unecessary actions. For the love of God, really? Honestly? Ugh. I need somewhere that's a sanctuary from all this unbelievable crappiness. I still have shit to do. It's only 8:30. Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh.
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