February is almost over. I feel like it's been centuries since I've written anything on here. But that's okay, because I suddenly remember why. (My computer chair limits the comfortable positions I can sit and type in, thus furthermore hindering my motivation to jump on here and rant. It might also be due to the fact that I don't have time to do everything that I want to.)
I apologize if my English has gotten a little lazy, or if my writing capabilities have been stunted. I like to see myself as an all-powerful writer of greater intelligence, but since I don't have any English classes, I've already set myself up for disappointment. I also can't math. That's because I refused to take AP Calculus both days. I mean, pardon my language, but fuck that shit.
Could I tell you a story about the adventures of last night? It's a family oriented story, mostly PG. I only add that in because I'm sure the nothingness that's reading my posts is sick of hearing about dramatic love complications and my complaints about the human race. So here's something new!
Last night after my family had dinner, it was Eric's turn to do dishes. He's an incredibly responsible and hardworking boy who doesn't complain too much about the messes made while dinner is in effect. In fact, he just grabs his headphones, plops them on, blasts his weird music scavenged from the 1980's pop music void that is my father's iTunes, and quietly completes the chore. He's a wonderful little boy.
But sometimes his hard work is disregarded entirely. See, when my dad enters the kitchen, it's time to just get out of there and turn your eyes elsewhere. I love him, he's a quirky dude, but he makes scary messes when he does any kind of cooking. Two Thanksgivings ago he managed to get Diet Dr. Pepper inside the toaster and on the ceiling. Two weeks ago I came home to a mess of onion shavings all over the floor, sink, and counters. It's reaching a point where you're sure a monster will suddenly claw its way out of the garbage can and infest the entire kitchen permanently.
Well, last night we almost had a frightening, monster-out-of-the-dark-depths experience. My dad gets these random spurs of joy whenever the fruit and vegetables at stores are lower prices. He then commits himself to a day or two of intense fruit-and-veggie-only drink diets. He has this fancy juicer that he LOVES to use. And the boys love to watch him chuck a whole apple into it and see only the juice come out. He was doing some of this last night.
But it never occurred to me to ask the question of where the left over fruit guts go when he's done juicing it. As far as I knew, it was tossed into the scary metal thing and never seen again. Oh boy was I wrong.
I was sitting in the living room, minding my own business and doing my homework, when everyone in the house hears my dad say, "Shit!"
Normally that means something bad happened, but we're used to it happening because he always says that. Then he says, "Oh boy," and that's when my mom gets concerned.
"What happened, Karl?"
Apparently he had decided it was okay to just throw all of the fruit and veggie guts into the sink and let the garbage disposal take care of it. He had said that he'd done it in the past and it had been fine before. This is the first time it has done this.
And my mom assured him that it was the last.
My parents ran about the house looking for buckets and towels and power drills and oggers. I stayed on the couch. I figured I would just quietly listen to their struggles and laugh to myself inside. My dad was adamant about helping out and fixing it himself, since he knew that this was all his fault. I could see it on his face. At one point my mom told him they needed to buy liquid plumber, but she had had a few drinks and so she couldn't drive. I shrunk deeper into the couch. My dad volunteered, since once again, he knew how deeply of fault he was, and my mom was unsure of how stable he was about driving, since he had had a drink earlier that night as well. I shrunk even deeper into the couch, trying to appear unknown to the world.
I had nothing to fear, however, because my dad said he was fine and he bumbled out of the house to his car. Then the world went silent for a while.
It was later that night when I was downstairs in my room, trying to sleep, when I heard my dad come in and start plunging the sink upstairs, making a constant thump thump thump noise. I don't think he really believed that liquid plumber would work, but it eventually stopped.
Back to why Eric was concerned at the beginning of the story. His clean kitchen after the dishes were done was turned into a giant juicy mess. And I felt bad for him, because I know the feeling. The poor guy. I feel bad for the next little boy that has to do the dishes tonight. Because when I got home from school, I found the kitchen still in its state of hopeless disarray.
Today's lesson is not to put fruit guts down the disposal, and to clean up after yourself. It creates sadness and havoc for poor little boys like my brothers.