I haven't a reason left in my head to not go away

Okay, I'll give it a shot, but it's not going to be pretty. I predict what follows will be lacking in structure, due specifically to the state of laziness I've found myself in. But, your guess is as good as mine, so let's spit it out and see how much sticks.

Now that I've lowered expectations, I can freely and without guilt be an irresponsible writer. You can debate amongst yourselves whether I've ever been a responsible writer; I'm moving on to the next paragraph.

Which is about apples. I talked with my sister earlier in the evening and she told me the story about my mother and apples.

A few ago at my grandmother's house, my sister had brought a bag of apples for my grandmother that her family had picked. My mother asked my sister where her apples were. She said this with a smile, but, according to my sister, it wasn't genuine.

Not long after, my mother brought the subject up again. "So no apples for me?". Again, said with a smile.

My sister is not a fan of confrontation and didn't respond. My mother asked her again later on why she didn't get any apples. My sister was irritated, but felt a response, no matter how it was framed, would get her into an argument with my mother. She held her tongue.

My mother is wonderful. I lover her deeply. However, she is sometimes given to irrational behavior. To wit: this apples nonsense. My mother doesn't like apples, plain and simple. I've known her all my life. I lived in her body for a while before I came into this world. In all that time, I've never seen her eat one apple. Not whole, in a pie, in the form of sauce, in juice. She does not like apples. Yet she was disappointed when she wasn't gifted with any at my grandmother's house.

Yeah, I know this isn't about apples. But, at least for me, it is hilarious. When my sister told me about it, I couldn't stop laughing. She laughed, too. Unfortunately for her, she has these type of encounters with my mother fairly often and has a harder time than I do finding the humor in them. I, thankfully, have a simpler, friendlier relationship with my mother. We sorted through the mind games by the time I graduated high school.
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One time, I couldn't decide between two books, so I purchased them both. I thought to myself, "I'm going to buy the fuck out of these!" That was the exact line. I was energized by my decision and that's what popped in my head. I just wanted to share that with you in case you needed convincing that, despite having a pure heart, I'm kind of a dork.
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I read from Blood Meridian and Streets of Laredo last night. Both are very good so far. I'll make quick work of them.
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I pulled my first dream-inspired prank last week. I'm not even sure it classifies as a prank, maybe I should have called it a psy-op. Anyway, in the dream I had placed a chair at the foot of my stairs. On it I had taped a piece a paper that had "Wait" written on it in big, black letters. The idea was for Craig to see it upon waking and wonder, in his post-slumber haze, what the hell it meant.

About a week later, I wrote "Wait" on a piece of paper, taped it to a chair, and placed it at the bottom of the stairs. Then I went to work. All from a dream! How exciting! I'm fucking like Nostradamus, or some shit.

I never heard back from Craig about the chair. I kind of figured he wouldn't respond. Doesn't matter; I felt great just doing it. Try it sometime, readers. Make a friend or family member wonder what the fuck is going on downstairs.

Wait!