Once, so long ago...
I dunno, whenever Dad so much as mentions my uni reading list, I sink into a deep, black depression. Doesn't he realise that I want to go to Uni? That I want to read my book? That I'm actually old enough to get on with it without nagging? Getting asked for a ***status report*** is even worse, as I know that the outcome will be either disapproval, with the various vague threats and suggestions that either I make myself a timetable and stick to it, or he'll make one for me, or I get the fake praise and pep talks about how he always knew that I'd do well, and has utmost faith in my abilities. If he has faith in my abilities, then why does he question them, and not trust me? And all this from just two questions about my reading. Fer cryin' out loud, I promised myself that this time, it'd be different. That this time they wouldn't be able to interfere. That this time, I'd be able to do things my way. I'm scared that it won't be different. I'm scared that they will interfere. I'm scared that they'll try to make me do things their way, and that I won't be able to resist. So far, it's started out just like all the other times. Man, but my life sucks.