Stoned by the Bell

……and the turn of events.

My mother put a bell on her front door so she will know when I leave and enter the house. WTF—this won’t make me want to move out at all…

I do not understand her logic. She complains to me about how she wants to be closer to me but when I take the initiative to share my thoughts, feelings and concerns she interrupts me and talks about some other topic totally unrelated to what I am expressing. In addition, she also complains about how we aren’t close but takes no steps in not being judgmental or keeping an open mind on how I feel.

Moreover, this doorbell shit is childish. I am more than willing to follow her rules as long as she sets them. This is her house and I am more than appreciative and willing to compromise. Give me rules and I shall follow!

I do not believe I am being unreasonable by asking for specific directions to follow—so I wouldn’t fuck up…. Mind you her expectations of me is beyond anything I will ever want to achieve. Not saying I couldn’t because I could. I am fucking amaze balls and a bag of fucking apple crips. PERIOD.

Anyways, I am dressed in my ‘thuggish ruggish’ attire with a beanie and everything so it is time to go “handle” this shit.

Bitch is about to throw down!

Not really… Hopefully after this chit chat with her my ass it not too red from her beating the shit out of them with a bamboo broom…. OUCH!


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