(no subject)
*headkeyboard*
Can we get a rewind on September, please? Yes, I know it's my birthday in two days (eighteen! Wtf, yo?), and all signs point towards it rocking, but right now I hate September and want it to go away. Shitty, shitty month. NOBODY IS ENJOYING THIS MONTH AND IT SUCKS.
-Thus far a friend, the sibling of a friend and an acquaintance have been hospitalised, and another friend's lost her job. TWELVE DAYS INTO THE MONTH.
-Steve I died. Not that I emo'd all that much, but it's sucky. One of my Grandad's best friends died today, as well.
-Kate said a few days ago that she would have come down for my birthday if she'd known in time. I know there's DecemberCon, but wah. Suckitude.
-I have worked (alongside school, don't forget) Thursday and Friday til 8pm, had a concert in Swansea til 2am and then worked all day Sunday, then worked Monday night til 8pm. Only plus side was that I finally got told I'm permanent. Currently caffeine is all that's keeping me going.
-Am supposed to be going to the last Cardiff Open Day tomorrow. I looked on the website just now, and apparently it's fully booked. I didn't even know you had to book. Shit. Am going anyway and hopefully sneaking in. *crosses fingers*
-Dad's being a wanker. First off he called to say he'd be late (...erm, he already was half an hour late when he called) and put the phone down on me when I said 'nothing new there then'. Then when he finally did come home I came downstairs to give him the messages and he refused to speak to me. I therefore said 'stuff this, then' and prepared to go back upstairs. Cue a rant with him SCREAMING and pointing his finger in my face. I came so close to crying, and now I have a thumping headache. Gee, thanks, Dad. Dubya tee eff, yo?
*headkeyboardheadkeyboard*
ETA, approximately 11.25pm: OK, we have the real night-maker. The also-ran: Earlier on I showed Dad the concert tickets.
Dad: Are they return tickets?
Me: You mean, the coach takes us home as well? Erm, yeah.
Dad: Pity.
Which is yeah, charmed I'm sure, but whatever. The reason for the ETA was when Dad called me downstairs just over an hour ago. In amongst other stuff, he employed the sentence (approximately) "When I put that phone down on you earlier, I wished you dead."
... Yeah. WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCKITY FUCK, DAD? I am now not entirely convinced that he actually said that, I admit. I mean, I'm tired and my hearing's dodgy at the best of times, really, and he was being rather quiet, and- it's Dad. And my mental reaction was just 'and what would be the estimated time of arrival on the point of this talk?', and then he went on to talk about my party and how he almost cancelled it but wasn't going to but I had to phone and book it, so he can't have said it, right?
Right?
Can we get a rewind on September, please? Yes, I know it's my birthday in two days (eighteen! Wtf, yo?), and all signs point towards it rocking, but right now I hate September and want it to go away. Shitty, shitty month. NOBODY IS ENJOYING THIS MONTH AND IT SUCKS.
-Thus far a friend, the sibling of a friend and an acquaintance have been hospitalised, and another friend's lost her job. TWELVE DAYS INTO THE MONTH.
-Steve I died. Not that I emo'd all that much, but it's sucky. One of my Grandad's best friends died today, as well.
-Kate said a few days ago that she would have come down for my birthday if she'd known in time. I know there's DecemberCon, but wah. Suckitude.
-I have worked (alongside school, don't forget) Thursday and Friday til 8pm, had a concert in Swansea til 2am and then worked all day Sunday, then worked Monday night til 8pm. Only plus side was that I finally got told I'm permanent. Currently caffeine is all that's keeping me going.
-Am supposed to be going to the last Cardiff Open Day tomorrow. I looked on the website just now, and apparently it's fully booked. I didn't even know you had to book. Shit. Am going anyway and hopefully sneaking in. *crosses fingers*
-Dad's being a wanker. First off he called to say he'd be late (...erm, he already was half an hour late when he called) and put the phone down on me when I said 'nothing new there then'. Then when he finally did come home I came downstairs to give him the messages and he refused to speak to me. I therefore said 'stuff this, then' and prepared to go back upstairs. Cue a rant with him SCREAMING and pointing his finger in my face. I came so close to crying, and now I have a thumping headache. Gee, thanks, Dad. Dubya tee eff, yo?
*headkeyboardheadkeyboard*
ETA, approximately 11.25pm: OK, we have the real night-maker. The also-ran: Earlier on I showed Dad the concert tickets.
Dad: Are they return tickets?
Me: You mean, the coach takes us home as well? Erm, yeah.
Dad: Pity.
Which is yeah, charmed I'm sure, but whatever. The reason for the ETA was when Dad called me downstairs just over an hour ago. In amongst other stuff, he employed the sentence (approximately) "When I put that phone down on you earlier, I wished you dead."
... Yeah. WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCKITY FUCK, DAD? I am now not entirely convinced that he actually said that, I admit. I mean, I'm tired and my hearing's dodgy at the best of times, really, and he was being rather quiet, and- it's Dad. And my mental reaction was just 'and what would be the estimated time of arrival on the point of this talk?', and then he went on to talk about my party and how he almost cancelled it but wasn't going to but I had to phone and book it, so he can't have said it, right?
Right?