Loominous

"Well I just wish you wouldn't test me, that's all."
Gaaaahd, I thought. Well I mean I thought that after the fact.
"I'm not testing you, I didn't intend it to be a test."
As soon as someone confronts you, go into defensive clarification mode. That's how the intellectual never loses an argument.
"Hand me my brush." I picked up her brush and handed it to her.
"What? Are you mad at me n--?"
"No."
See there it is. She's got the upper hand. She cut me off and cut me off with a response to my question, proving not only that my presumption is wrong, but that she knew the rest of the question.
"I just don't see why you couldn't do it in the first place like you always do?"
"Liste--"
Again.
"I mean if you're not happy doing it you should have just been honest with me instead of not doing it and testing me. I'm not averse to doing it I'm just used to doing it and I'm the kind of person who falls into routines for mundane tasks. I need to have my mundane tasks in proper order so I don't waste mental preparedness on such trivial things."
So basically, I just should have done it. From here there's nowhere to take it except maybe to escalate it to a major altercation. Well, I'm feeling a bit whimsical today. I'm a little loose. I'm kind of bored with the way things are going, why not mix it up?

"I'm tired of your bullshit, you never would've done it because you don't even know how. I wasn't testing you. I didn't think of the 'you' component of it when I didn't do it, I just didn't do it, because I didn't feel like doing it at the time."
"What is that supposed to mean I never would've done it? I would have done it if you asked me to, that's how people who don't usually do things assume responsibility for doing something they usually don't do. So if you would've asked me, I'm sure I would've been fine with doing it. And what is that supposed to mean I don't even know how, I am sick of the chip on your shoulder about the mundane things you can do that I can't."
I swear a little bit of everyone's arguing prowess derives from the snippets of Ricki Lake and Jerry Springer they've seen through the years. Yeah, our personalities are inexpensive cocktails - until the MPAA hires better lawyers.
"I'm not saying that you can't do it." A little of her own medicine! But not really because I didn't craft that strategy on the fly. It was just me lowering my standards and committing the intellectual crime I had just identified on her end. "All I'm saying," I mean, it's pretty clear that it's not all I'm saying, but this and other mini-prefaces are futile attempts to patronize the adversary into subconsciously thinking your argument is straightforward, "is that not everything I do is done with you in mind."
"Well, that's very clear to me."

Let's talk about open doors. Let's talk about opening doors. Then, we'll talk about closing them, and after that: the reluctant ajaredness of doors. The sometimes persistent nature of door-ajaricity. Or, the constitutional right of my door to have hinges on the same side as your dominant hand or there will be hell to pay in the form of you being thrown in an airtight room with a black bag over your head - door closed.

So there I sat, in a cushiony room that I am ashamed to say immediately reminded me of an old boy band video from the 90s. I believe it was the N*Sync (I never know where to put the asterisk! roflmao!) music artist, perhaps for one of their pop hits, perhaps, "I Drive Myself Crazy." Anyway, whiiish, I got all sentimental and laaamerz.

That's when you fall. Sitting there in the padded room assessing the current circumstance. I look up and there is a mirror and I am not who I think I am. I am Jenny McCarthy sitting on Santa's lap. The one and only...well-dressed missionary. I start laughing and dancing and laughing and dancing all around the padded room. When I look up again I'm Carmen Electra and I'm 80% nude and the floor in the mirror is the nighttime sky through dusty dirty grimey slimey city blinds, and in the full moon between the blinds I see myself again. I'm Lieutenant General James Longstreet, who probably never saw anyone like Carmen Electra, who I used to be before I looked up and realized I was the commander of the First Corps on a night like no other. I looked down at myself and indeed, I had the green soldier uniform on. It was tattered because if it wasn't then I'd have known something was up. I'm ready to serve! I can serve! The sanitation route? How come?

I fastened my canteen to my bayonet (probably the most useless independent clause I've ever constructed) and flipped open my Sony Vaio (clearly the rebels wouldn't have Macs). "Motherfucker," I snapped, "I'm going to need a cable resurgence, I'm way too heavy in Sterling."
"Longstreet! God damn it son, what did I tell you about checking your stocks before gameday!"
"No, sir, I wasn't - I was reviewing the battle plan for tomorrow sir."
This wasn't good, my stomach sunk. I knew that if he asked for proof I wouldn't even have the map in my history trail. If only there were some kind of configurable audit simulator. Ahhh he's gonna ask to see it, fuck I am fucked. I felt a bug on my shoe.
"Let's see what you think about Little Roundtop," he inched closer and I knew I was caught. Should I go into my apology now or should I wait on a miracle. I opened the Vaio and to my surprise, a damned Yankee pop-up ad had appeared on the screen and obstructed the portfolio view. Coast clear I figured.
"God damn it Longstreet, why doesn't this corps have better servers?"
He was so straightforward. I am a barbarian, he is a superpower. We were barbarians, the North were a civilized people. As a continent, we were civilized, and those in the tropical climates are barbarians.
"Bahhh, let's add seven months and make every month only have 19 days. Then, at the end, we'll add however many days short of the lunar calendar we are."

"Born in the U.S.A." is a c-r-i-t-i-q-u-e, and anything that's negative about it as a song is negative because it's supposed to be. Get it?