I’m super sorry I threatened to dismember every Barbie left on the floor, limb by awkwardly-bent limb. I totally regret my promises to have Zumba practice on top of all the shit in your room if you won’t clean it up.
It’s just… I’m tired of looking at Thomas the fucking Tank and his merry band of communists scattered all over the living room. When your secret fort is reduced to the battered remains of every couch pillow and blanket in the house, I don’t want to see it. I’m done.
Since you won’t change your behavior, a fact made clear when you left a bowl full of pee next to the bathtub, I guess I’ll have to change my expectations. See, I’ve learned a thing or two in therapy.
I tried to keep one room spotless and spend my time there, but honestly, the linen closet was starting to feel a bit cramped. Changing the house is only a temporary solution — in order to find lasting peace, I am going to have to change myself.
So, on Monday, while you look at the stupid dot of light disappearing on a paper plate, I am going to stare directly at the fucking sun.
Good luck finding your shoes without my help.