Let's see, now... what did I dream last night?

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I don't rightly remember. Maybe because I woke up earlier than usual: 7:00 a.m. Dad had to take his car down to be fixed. Air conditioner on the fritz, or something. I followed him down to the Chevy dealer, and he hopped into Old Blue.

We were both itchin' to get to work. There was some windows 'round the house needin' paintin', and the air when we left the house this morning was almost balmy. What's that mean? Good day to paint!It was sweet! Primed and finished two windows. Finised three more. Even primed up the corners of the house. Pops took the aluminum corner caps off a couple years back, the time we repainted the house. Before he puts them back on, he wants the bare boards beneath primed and finished. Maybe for the insulation it will add?

Who knows. That man has me do some wierd stuff sometimes. Like today he tells me he'd like to pack up all my stuff and put it away into storage in the attic on Sunday, so he can get a sense what it will all look like before I head to Puerto Rico. Because the day before I leave for Puerto Rico, he's leaving to visit my sister in Germany. SO he wants to have his house secure before he leaves for a couple weeks. Well, that means pack up your desk, boy, so dad can see what it will look like with all your stuff in containers. That way he know where to tell you to pile them. Because no pile may be carelessly placed. There must be order, boy.

It's pure mayhem, really.

He also said he'd prefer if I hung up my clothes on the clothes racks instead on these sweet director's chairs that he's had since I was born. And, what's the deal with my lifestyle? Do I really enjoy being - and here he just looks at me and smiles. But, I can read his mind. He's thinking: dirty. Dirty, dirty. DIRTY!

YES.

I DO.

Very much, in fact. And, I'm kind of offended you'd ask me to pack up everything just so you can see what it looks like.

Well, son, when do you suppose I can get an idea of how it's going to look [piled up in my house]. <---(that's me reading his mind again.)

... grr... How about Sunday, dad?

That man. He must know I love him. How else could I put up with his zanny ideas?

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