Well, I don’t fucking appreciate you leaving me a list of chores to do on my day off and being sure it’s the first fucking thing I see when I first wake up in the morning.

+ Clean up after the dogs.
+ Wash any and all dishes you use. (The skillet and its lid from last night are still dirty. Rewash it, Shelby.)
+ Clean your rooms.
+ Dust the house.
+ Sweep all the floors.
(Shelby: If UPS or FedEx come by and need a signature, you need to sign for it. Don’t look in the boxes.)

1. I like how you specified that I’m the one who should clean the skillet that you dirtied up last night. Thanks for that, bitch.
2. My room has been clean since you told me to clean it two days ago. It is not dirty. I am not doing it again.
3. I’m not retarded: I’m perfectly aware that I would be the only one in this house during the day that would be able to sign for packages. I’m the only one that’s eighteen.
4. As for cleaning up after the dogs… Thanks, woman. You could have done that this morning when you were, you know, awake. Since you didn’t bother to do it, and since your husband—who was also awake when you were—didn’t bother to do it, and since my brothers—who (a) are staying home with me today and were awake long before I ever was and (b) never clean up after anything, not even themselves—didn’t bother to do it, we had dog shit waiting in the living room until 9:15 A.M.—which was when I woke up. Since nobody bothered to clean up after the dogs before the last person asleep woke up, my oxygen supply smells worse than what it should. So now I have to keep the back door open to air the house out and it is fucking below freezing, which should not surprise you because we live in the middle of fucking Texas. Since the back door has to be open now, until the smell clears out, I can’t turn on the heater even though it is below freezing outside.

You know what?
People constantly ask me, “God, Shelby, do you ever think before you do something? Do you ever think before you say something? Do you think at all?”
I can safely say that I do not think all the time before I do or say something, because not everyone does, but I can also say without a doubt whenever I am asked that question anymore, “I think more than my mom does.”
That is the fucking, blatant truth and I am damn proud of it.
My father always told me to strive to be better than him or my mother, because a child should always try to be better than their parents.
Guess I’ve been succeeding for twelve years now.

Fuck.