The slamming sound of pots,pans,dishes, and cups over the rumbling of your voice. "You didnt vacume today"? "Why does this counter look dirty all the time?" The day as darkend and my eyelids are beginning to feel heavy. I've vacumed the house, cleaned the stack of lastnights dishes, and made dinner but the air freshend house and mopped floors still are not good enough for you. As soon as i hear you come up the stairs after work i want to scatter like a roach to my room so you dont have the chance to tell me how unperfectly clean the house is. Chills go up my spine as soon as your foot hits the floor. I can see the angry sploch of red in the middle of your forehead and i already know somethings wrong. I have learned to block out your anger and know i have done my best. I am not you and never will be like you. I will probably never live up to your standards but only to mine and i am perfectly fine with that.