I am at my step dad's dull house. When you first walk in there is three couches. They look as though a flower like material took over a piece of furniture. There is a little side table that has The Bible, and a half eaten pop tart? I glance into the kitchen and it looks the same as it usually does. It has a 50s look to it, peach tile, white linoleum flooring that has some small design on each square. There is a white microwave, and a whole variety of chips scattered across the counter top, against the wall. All there is to do here is play solitaire on the computer, so I do not have to talk to Steve, his room mate.
It is just awkward. Who lives with their STEP DAD? Rachel Firkin Morgan, that's who. Steve, always wears an ARMY shirt, even though he is a real estate agent. He wears white Reebok sneakers. Every time I walk into the door be greets me and tries to give me a hug, which a dodge. His jeans always have this white paint on them. I think his hands have some sort of disease, because they are always in his pockets. He is chubby, everywhere. He has a uni brow, which I can not help but laugh at. He is so odd. He always asks me to play battle ship with him.
My step dad is in San Diego until Sunday. It is totally amazing. I do not have to look at his horrifying face for a whole three days and four nights. Heaven? I think so. Minus Steve of course. He eats everything in the house. I just want to tell him he will get diabetes and die, but I know he is a tad bit smarter then I give him credit for. So I keep my yap shut.
My step dad calls every hour just to make sure I am okay, because of my illness. It is borderline ridiculous.
I am not allowed to go anywhere. I can not have anyone come over. I can not take a nap more then two hours. There is more to his five paragraph list of restrictions. He also has my day planned laid out for me. He has contacts of his family members in case of an emergency. I just might get a migraine, that will be the end of me, right?
My step dad calls at five in the afternoon, and tells me to take a certain pill. I take it, which my step dad has ordered for me to take, which is earlier then I usually do. So, while on the phone with him, I throw my medication high up in the air, and somehow it lands perfectly on my tongue.
"BINGO" I yell. I grab my ninja turtle cup, and I fill it up with orange juice. I chug down my blue pill. "There." I say sarcastically. He then asks me "Did you take your -blank-?" I respond "No I just snorted a shit load of cocaine, and now I'm about to go sell myself. Can I call you back later?"
" You're hilarious. Did you actually take it, or are you lying?" He says this as if I have the worst habit of lying, all the time. I lie about little things like "I did not have any ice cream today, Steve did." He treats me, when he does talk to me, like I am a criminal. Actually more like I am mental.
It is now seven thirty and I take four more of my medication pills, and I put on my stupid patch, after I take a shower. --In first period I TA. A stupid girl asks me what the clear patch is for. Why is she checking out my legs to begin with? I tell her "It allows me to get free discounts on most items at Safeway." She looks at me with wide eyes, nods her head, then walks away. Mr. Dini and I try so hard not to laugh.--
A little later, I take my -blank- medication. Within an hour, I begin to feel like the room is spinning. "How come I can hardly walk,?" I say while laughing. I pretty much slur to my step dads room mate, who is watching the food channel. He looks at me, confused. "Um, didn't you take your -blank- medication at five like your step dad told you to?" I stagger to the bathroom to yak. He somehow gets his large self out of his chair and waddles over to me like he can magically cure me.
I OD'ed on my medication. My medication I take is so strong. I am not suppose to take it until it is seven, right after I eat. I took this really strong medication, twice.
Fantastic
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