(no subject)
I lit a few, cheap, tacky-looking candles. It took me about seven matches to do it, but I lit them. I got a real old c.d. player out of my brother's room. It's quite beautiful, you know. Paint splashes galore. Stickers that won't unstick. A play/pause button that needs to be jammed with a pair of scissors to actually work. But I got it to work, nonetheless. I put in some Lovedrug. It tuned out the yelling for the most part; I had the volume turned up pretty loud. I just hate those 3 second pauses, you know, the transitional ones - that take you from one song to the next. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. Because 3 secons of my mom's wretched voice really seems like 3 hours. But 3 seconds is long enough to hear her scream about what a horrible kid I am. And 3 seconds is long enough to listen to my dad make his point that I am not, in fact, a burden.
Oh, but it keeps going. And going. And going. And my mom actually had the nerve to come in my room and tell me to turn my music down...
All this because I wanted a logical explanation for my 10 'o' clock curfew. This is beauty, my friends. I should have been a strung out drug addict with a serious alcohol problem and a few attempted suicides under my belt. Then they'd really have a problem.
I'm going to go put the "Welcome" rug back on the porch. I really think it's appropriate.
(Yes, I am a smart ass. What's it to you?)