Background Music for the Previous Post

(I'd almost finished writing when my father walked in and sat in my chair.)

Dad: We need to talk.
Laura: 'bout what?
Dad: I know we said we were going to try not to be bothering you as much while you were home this summer, but this is getting absurd.
Laura: [Silence.]
Dad: First, you need to clean this pigsty of a room up, and keep it clean. You just can't live like this, Laura, you can't. You've got clothes not put away, hangers on the floor . . . I've told you twice this week already, now get it clean. Second, we need to know where you're going to be in Atlanta [next weekend], and when, and how we can get in touch with you, and we need that phone number. Don't look at me like that. And we need to know how we know when you know where you are when.
Laura: . . . What was that last part?
Dad: We need to know how you'll get in contact with us, once you know where you're staying.
Laura: Oh.
Dad: You still haven't gotten in touch with your grandfather to see about getting that frame for the bed, either, have you? Do that this weekend. It seems like you're just sitting around here being lazy all the time. You don't do anything; just sit around here at the computer, online. Seems like you could be using your time more productively.
Laura: Who's to say I'm not using my time productively?
Dad: You . . . stay online all the time, you've set up this . . . broadcasting station in your room.
Laura: You have no idea how I use my time on the computer.
Dad: At any rate, that's more of a suggestion. *Sighs* I know you don't like this, but this — especially your room — has been driving Mom and me crazy. Or maybe just me. I don't know about your mom.
Laura: [long silence; glances at screen]
Dad: You're not going to say anything, are you?
Laura: Not really.