2008 08 17 i was at my parent's house, using the computer to find out what time it was. the tightly packed black and cyan squares were unfamiliar, not like the mac interface i had grown up with, nor the linux i used daily. "god this thing sucks, it takes like five seconds just to update the screen. why does it have to update the whole screen to show the date anyway? command lines are so much better." i wasn't really talking to anyone in particular, but my dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. "wah wah wah, ben you're such a whiner. you should be thankful for what you've got." i huffed in response, and got up hastily in disgust. i stomped upstairs to the bathroom to wash the black coating off my hands that had crept in through the holes in my mechanic's gloves while working on my car. i pulled off the gloves to wash my hands, but when i set them down on the white tile counter next to the sink there was already a pile of laundered mechanic's gloves. apparently someone had found my collection of worn out gloves i couldn't bear to throw away. many were ragged and missing entire fingers, or showed the chalky-green coating that was evidence they had become extremely mouldy at some point. i couldn't put my "good" gloves in with the pile of old nasty gloves, (the irony being that my good gloves were covered in dirt and grease, while the bad gloves were pristine and smelled of laundry detergent) but the rest of the bathroom was covered in damp and half-wet white towels, which i couldn't move aside or set my gloves on top of because it would get them dirty. in a fit of anger i yanked off my gloves and began carrying towels to the top of the stairs and throwing them down to the floor below. they landed with a satisfying flup noise. i went back to get some more, determined to finish what i'd started. when i got back with the second arm-load of towels, i saw that someone had moved the towels from the floor into a laundry basket, which was pushed up against the corner of the stairs such that it would be impossible to throw anything into. another disgusted huff, i threw the rest of the towels onto the floor, scattering dust bunnies everywhere. my mom poked her head out of the living room, annoyed. "what the hell ben? can't you use a laundry basket?" she was already slopping the wet dirty towels into an even bigger basket. it looked as big as a dog carrier. "baskets suck. especially laundry baskets. they're pokey and heavy and hurt your back. bad design. i hate them." "if you weren't such a weakling, it wouldn't be a problem." I floated down the stairs, coming to a hover with my feet menacingly at her face level. "so, you think i should be a big strong beefy manly man, that's it?" "grow up. all that time you spend on Myspace or whatever it is, you could be out living a real life." At this I unleashed an angry, intense, screeching "FUCK YOU!" that lasted several seconds and felt really good. Something fell off a shelf in the kitchen from the force of the noise. I drifted wearily down to a resigned slouch halfway up the stairs. Several seconds of eye-to-eye contact ticked by. Mike and Chris bustled in the front door then, and the cold air snapped me into normal mode. They had been on the porch, and probably had heard everything. "So, are we going to Perkins or what? I want some french toast." grunted Chris in his welsh accent. I looked at my hands, they were acceptably clean from all the towel handling, so i wouldn't have to wash them before leaving anyway. "Yeah I guess I'm ready." "You should really make up with your mom first" said Mike. "Now's a great time" nudged Chris, as Andrew Bird's song "flesh and blood" started on the radio. [sorta like "the trees were mistaken" without all the weird strings and whistling] I stood up and tried to wrap my arms around her in a bear-hug but I was wearing a jacket with thermals underneath, and she was wearing a poofy coat, so my hands couldn't quite reach. I sighed, and the short black faux-fur on her lapel next to my nose quivered like vanilla pudding. This was good enough. "I dont use Myspace, anyway." I half-whispered as we all walked out the door.