In the beginning God said “get the hell out of bed”

Those are the words spoken to me upon the beginning of my new life living with my mom and step-father as I march towards my 50th birthday.  It was yelled to me by my step-father at 5:50 am and was followed by “your breakfast is ready and it’s raining out.”  I will refer to him as John since in this dwelling the only thing that matters is the “Gospel of John.”   At least that’s what he thinks he is as my mother stated to me the previous night while moving into their house.

Being half asleep, I slowly placed my feet on the floor wondering exactly where I was and who that strange but nicely dressed man was that woke me up like that.  As I put my underwear on backwards I suddenly heard downstairs the lovely morning sounds of my step-father John cursing like a drunken sailor on his first night back in harbor.  “Ah, Christ, I’ve fucking done it again.”  Thinking the worst, I rushed downstairs into the kitchen.  I knew I could handle anything as I had taken CPR courses for just such instances.

As I barreled in I saw a stone-faced John with one arm over the dishwasher and the other holding his personal coffee cup.  “What’s wrong John?” I hesitantly muttered.  “I forgot to empty the fucking dishwasher last night.”  Now, in the history of mankind’s terrible tragedies, this is right up there with the likes of “I forgot how to blink” and “That bastard didn’t call me back.”  So I didn’t know what to say.

At this point John insisted that I eat my breakfast in the next five minutes or it will go soggy.  He had already poured the milk over the cereal that he had decided for me and had placed exactly one cup of orange juice into the glass next to it.  Of course the thing I was craving for most was coffee.  So I asked him if they had any in the house.  This was probably one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever done in my life —

“No.  We don’t have any fucking coffee.  What the fuck do you want coffee for anyway?  All it does is make you jumpy as you piss every 15 minutes all over the toilet seat, which I just cleaned five minutes ago.  Oh, what the fuck, it’s pissing down like a racehorse outside so I might as well go get some for you, right?  But you can just fucking wait until I finish emptying the dishwasher before you expect me to go marching outside to get wetter than a cock in a whore’s pussy.”

Wow right?  Now remember the time this was happening at.  Exactly 5:59 am.  At this exact moment I realized that I was going to have an interesting time living in this strange household.  But that, at the very least, it would be a very good story to tell people.  And that is the reason for this blog.  Because if I don’t write about it as it happens, no one is going to ever believe it…. including me.   ——

P.S. — just a last minute update.  I left to go out for a few hours and discovered that my mom had read this blog, my very first blog about my life here.  This is what she wrote.

“Surely all this is a BIG exaggeration son?    At least I am hoping that it is!!    Who in their right mind could ever live with a man like that!   I know I couldn’t!!   This notation is from your old Mum.”

I have decided to keep my luggage bag next to my bed in case I must leave safely in the middle of the night.

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