The Brobdingnagian Problem

I’m sure you all know that I have big plans for this summer. I want to get a lot of stuff done. For instance, I want to work hard at Save Alot, and always have between 30 and 40 hours a week. So far, that has been working out. I’ll be getting about one or two days off a week. On average, I’ll be working six hours a day, if not, then four or eight. It’s not full time, it’s a summer job. I’m sure I’ll get lots of comments from idiots who tell me it’s nothing, because it’s not full time, or a 9-5 job, or any of that bantha fodder. My job at Save Alot is a part time, summer job. It holds it’s purpose. If I wanted a full time job, then I would abandon college.
Besides working hard, I want to start going to the Ymca with a buddy of mine from work. Since there is a monthly membership, I figured on waiting until next month anyways, and honestly, once I get out of work, the last thing on my mind is exercise, unless of course you mean beating up on welfare folks. I have a while to get back into the swing of things, and then I’ll get working on improving myself.
With it being my last summer vacation of all time, unless of course I get a job as a teacher, I want to get a lot of work done. What work you say? Why, the work that I’ll be doing for the rest of my life. My art. I want to improve on my art skills, and try to come up with a fair amount of work. I also want to work on other projects too, like the comic strip, and a few other things.

The problem I have though, is that I am not comfortable here. Many factors go into this. My computer desk and chair? Imagine Rosie the Robot having sex with a two foot tall Pinocchio with a big plastic tarp over his head. They are both reciting the National Anthem as they commit their deed, and requesting that you sing along. That’s about how comfortable my workstation is. Out of all the beds I have to chose from, the sofa is the only one I can get a good night’s sleep on, but I’m not allowed to sleep there because that might make it dirty or something. It sounds like I might be able to move my computer into the guest room. This is a huge step. Unfortunately, that means I need to get a computer desk and chair, and provide a means of internet, since it’s the exact opposite corner of the house. The guest room is a nice, cool, dimly lit room, so it would be perfect. There is plenty of shelf space, which is disgustingly occupied by junk that my mom doesn’t really want to put away, but doesn’t really want to display either. There is a comfortable recliner in there as well, which is covered with the pillows that my mom doesn’t want on the sofa because they might get ruined. The bed is nice, but I’m not supposed to use all the blankets on it, or else, they will become destroyed or something. I am also not allowed to rearrange even the slightest detail of anything, because that’s not where it’s supposed to go apparently. As far as making any area efficient for me to work in, it will not happen, as I need to not have anything on a desk, by a desk, or arranged to my liking anywhere else. Everything I am working on always gets put away someplace, and my mom never seems to remember where she put it, even if she put it there ten minutes ago.

So I’ll have to get by.

Fortunately, I still have more obstacles to go over before I can get anything done. Every time I start to work on my art, my mother bursts into the room, pissed off for reasons unknown, and begins her act. First, she starts telling me that it’s time to get something done. Then, she starts with her list. She starts telling me everything she would like me to do today. Most of the time, it involves when she would like me to shower. Evidently, it cannot be in the morning, or in the afternoon. It has to be right before I go to bed, but not too late mind you, or else that’s a problem too. It has something to do with her wacky concept of laundry. That towel and those boxers that I put in the hamper after my morning shower completely throw her balanced laundry cycle out of sync. God forbid.

After she gets done telling me when I should shower, she continues with her list, telling me not to change the shower setting, not to use very hot water, and to clean the shower twice after using it. After that, I get standard chores, which, I understand, but the way she delivers them to me, telling me that I’ve never once walked the dog before in my life, and that I never do anything, is just simply laughable. Yes, it’s odd, that I don’t have to chop wood to make progress with my life.

So by the time she starts on me, with everything else added up, I have no will to work on art. Art is a funny thing. It’s not like beating up disabled children. Frustration will only help you beat up disabled children. To really get things done, despite the fact that I try to treat it like a business, I need to have a fairly stable mindset. Once my mom gets done with me, (and it doesn’t stop at any point during the day) I have no urge, no inspiration. I am dead inside. All I want to do is sit down, and shut my brain off in front of the television. And that is probably how I am going to spend my last summer. Thanks mom.

Moogie says: “I love you!”

Mr. Jones says: “Lynk, I wanna tap that sweet ass o’ yours.”

Translation of Mr. Jones’ statement: “I love you, too.”

Here’s what I do when the Moog is yellin’ at me:
I open and close my mouth repeatedly. I don’t make any noises, I just open and close my mouth. Works like a charm. Why? I have no idea. Give it a try.

~Mister Jones



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