(no subject)
This journal is obscenely yellow. It really has to go. Of course, it’s not like that’s EASY - I’ve tried clicking all over the place, and asking this lap top as nicely as I can manage, but NO, the yellow remains, mocking me with its cheeriness. I really do not know what I was THINKING making it this colour in the first place.
My excuse for a father E-mailed me yesterday. He complained about not being able to simply owl, the whiny git. Oh yes, because CLEARLY the nefarious plans of You-Know-Who are ALL my fault!! As if learning to use a computer is that hard anyway - oh, but yes, for someone with as few brain cells as daddy, it probably is. Idiot.
Asking me if I want to keep the box of toys he found in the attic while clearing out the remainder of his stuff as he’s moving in with that BINT Auntie Jo, indeed. Er, no, father. I’d rather NOT have any reminder of any part of my life that YOU were in, thankyouverymuch. He can act as hurt as he wants and ask why I do not call him ‘Daddy’ anymore, but I’m afraid that’s what you get when you GET CAUGHT CHEATING ON YOUR WIFE ON CHRISTMAS EVE AND TEAR YOUR FAMILY APART.
He called me his yellow-haired SUNSHINE, the crawling whining creep. So I’ve decided to dye my hair black; I’m not being ANYONE’S sunshine, least of all HIS. I would ask how it looks, but I don’t really care - as long as it’s not yellow, I’m happy. Well. Happy is somewhat of an overstatement, as always nowadays. Grim satisfaction with a side order of constant bitterness, maybe.
I must admit to being glad it’s February - we are finally far enough from Christmas that no-one’s going to ask me ‘oh, Hannah, how was your Christmas?’ FECKING AWFUL, THANKS. The usual, you know, having your father turn out to be cheating scum, being dumped by the boy next door for the ‘girl he met at school’ with bigger knockers and less intelligence, OH YES AND my rabbit died after getting into the Floo pot - no matter how many times I tell my family it’s toxic to Scamp, someone still leaves it on the table instead of the mantelpiece. And by someone I mean MY DARN FATHER.
Of course, there’ll never be a good answer to ‘so, how are you?’ but such is life. People only ever ask to see how much better than yours their life is, anyway, so suppose I can be the one everyone talks to to feel better about themselves. GREAT.
So clearly nothing in my life is going to ever go right again - I can’t even get the younger years to stop pulling Whiskers’ tail. I HATE that name. It’s too happy. It reminds me of times when I thought life was FAIR. I want to rename him; I’m not so sure how well kittens take to renaming. Though it’s not like he obeys ‘Whiskers’ anyway. I can’t even get my CAT to do what I want. He’s like a small furry metaphor for the black cloud of gloom that is my life. Gloom. That’s a good name.
So yes. DON’T PULL GLOOM’S TAIL.
Oh, and now we have to go to a YULE BALL. IN FEBRUARY. Right. Merlin’s BEARD I’m going to a darn BALL - with a DATE! I’m not doing ANYTHING with a boy - it’s all MALES that make my life so hard, you’ve got another think coming if you think I’m going to a BALL, to watch everyone have FUN, rubbing it in that their lives are just so much BETTER than mine, and have to hang out with one of the GITS at this school? I’m having words with someone. This is not on.
My excuse for a father E-mailed me yesterday. He complained about not being able to simply owl, the whiny git. Oh yes, because CLEARLY the nefarious plans of You-Know-Who are ALL my fault!! As if learning to use a computer is that hard anyway - oh, but yes, for someone with as few brain cells as daddy, it probably is. Idiot.
Asking me if I want to keep the box of toys he found in the attic while clearing out the remainder of his stuff as he’s moving in with that BINT Auntie Jo, indeed. Er, no, father. I’d rather NOT have any reminder of any part of my life that YOU were in, thankyouverymuch. He can act as hurt as he wants and ask why I do not call him ‘Daddy’ anymore, but I’m afraid that’s what you get when you GET CAUGHT CHEATING ON YOUR WIFE ON CHRISTMAS EVE AND TEAR YOUR FAMILY APART.
He called me his yellow-haired SUNSHINE, the crawling whining creep. So I’ve decided to dye my hair black; I’m not being ANYONE’S sunshine, least of all HIS. I would ask how it looks, but I don’t really care - as long as it’s not yellow, I’m happy. Well. Happy is somewhat of an overstatement, as always nowadays. Grim satisfaction with a side order of constant bitterness, maybe.
I must admit to being glad it’s February - we are finally far enough from Christmas that no-one’s going to ask me ‘oh, Hannah, how was your Christmas?’ FECKING AWFUL, THANKS. The usual, you know, having your father turn out to be cheating scum, being dumped by the boy next door for the ‘girl he met at school’ with bigger knockers and less intelligence, OH YES AND my rabbit died after getting into the Floo pot - no matter how many times I tell my family it’s toxic to Scamp, someone still leaves it on the table instead of the mantelpiece. And by someone I mean MY DARN FATHER.
Of course, there’ll never be a good answer to ‘so, how are you?’ but such is life. People only ever ask to see how much better than yours their life is, anyway, so suppose I can be the one everyone talks to to feel better about themselves. GREAT.
So clearly nothing in my life is going to ever go right again - I can’t even get the younger years to stop pulling Whiskers’ tail. I HATE that name. It’s too happy. It reminds me of times when I thought life was FAIR. I want to rename him; I’m not so sure how well kittens take to renaming. Though it’s not like he obeys ‘Whiskers’ anyway. I can’t even get my CAT to do what I want. He’s like a small furry metaphor for the black cloud of gloom that is my life. Gloom. That’s a good name.
So yes. DON’T PULL GLOOM’S TAIL.
Oh, and now we have to go to a YULE BALL. IN FEBRUARY. Right. Merlin’s BEARD I’m going to a darn BALL - with a DATE! I’m not doing ANYTHING with a boy - it’s all MALES that make my life so hard, you’ve got another think coming if you think I’m going to a BALL, to watch everyone have FUN, rubbing it in that their lives are just so much BETTER than mine, and have to hang out with one of the GITS at this school? I’m having words with someone. This is not on.