I Hope This Helps

I drove out to the county to the house where all my nightmares take place, under gray skies. It was like that all five days of the week. Great grey sheets covering everything like the furniture in a dead man's house. My sister called me Wednesday before the day I drove to a dead man's house and she was angry. She was angry because I was not coming to the house that she lives and making things happen. Like cleaning, like fixing things. Doing all the things that I do in my own apartment. Doing all things I mostly hadn't been able to do this past semester. But I had to drop everything and do for her what she should be doing for herself. She had got a new roommate and they had been cleaning. Like you're supposed to do. The house was a shambles. As though it weren't depressing enough that both our parents died there, it was filthy. Grime on everything. All the random things my father refused to throw away, piled high in the garage. About a quarter inch of duck shit

5. Looking down on people who use two-ply toilet paper Any toilet paper that isn't that single ply, not perforated stuff that comes in white box with black Arial font seems completely decadent to you. All the other hardships you have experienced in the military you'll just accept and drive on, but GOD FORBID someone you respect use the toilet paper from the commercial with the adorable animated bears. They could have really bad hemorrhoids or something, but you don't care because you had to eat shit sandwiches daily in a desert country filled with people who either want to kill you are are completely terrified of you. Meanwhile, everyone else had air conditioning, fast internet with porn and steak houses that will actually serve a steak at a temperature other than well done shoe leather. The only way to deal with this, is a kind of minimizing, which can quickly get out of control. . . Seriously, this bear to you becomes like Marilyn Manson was to Tipper Gore in the