(no subject)
I'm trying to be optimistic.
Really, I am.
There is, of course, every chance that Mercedes will not be a tabloid clone like her silicon sister. There's every chance we will get on 'like a house on fire' (there may be no survivors?) and that we'll be best friends 4eva, sistah's 4 life, and that she'll, as I know mum hopes, open my eyes up to The Light.
Mmhmm.
"You need a friend", mum said, over her fat and flavour free breakfast, hot water and lemon and collection of colourful dietry suppliment pills. Fuck you. FUCK YOU. THAT'S why she agreed to let a cousin I've NEVER MET share my ROOM? To be Alex's REPLACEMENT? FUCK YOU!
I could murder her.
At least after the first week we'll be able to close the French Doors that halve my friggen massive room. Mum is bolting them over for Seven Days of Girly Hell so we can "get to know each other". Presumably by talking late into the night and sneaking down to the kitchen for midnight snacks in our jim jams. Hello. I have seen photographs of this girl. She looks like she hasn't eaten in weeks. She is not the donut, she is the hole.
My room is MY room. My refuge, my santuary, my holy temple of all things rock. We could makeover Jackson's room, but NO, it must remain an untouched shrine of holy Jacksonness for when he comes home twice a year.
I thank the gods of small things that live under mushrooms that we won't have any of the same classes, at least.
I really am trying to be optimistic.
Really, I am.
There is, of course, every chance that Mercedes will not be a tabloid clone like her silicon sister. There's every chance we will get on 'like a house on fire' (there may be no survivors?) and that we'll be best friends 4eva, sistah's 4 life, and that she'll, as I know mum hopes, open my eyes up to The Light.
Mmhmm.
"You need a friend", mum said, over her fat and flavour free breakfast, hot water and lemon and collection of colourful dietry suppliment pills. Fuck you. FUCK YOU. THAT'S why she agreed to let a cousin I've NEVER MET share my ROOM? To be Alex's REPLACEMENT? FUCK YOU!
I could murder her.
At least after the first week we'll be able to close the French Doors that halve my friggen massive room. Mum is bolting them over for Seven Days of Girly Hell so we can "get to know each other". Presumably by talking late into the night and sneaking down to the kitchen for midnight snacks in our jim jams. Hello. I have seen photographs of this girl. She looks like she hasn't eaten in weeks. She is not the donut, she is the hole.
My room is MY room. My refuge, my santuary, my holy temple of all things rock. We could makeover Jackson's room, but NO, it must remain an untouched shrine of holy Jacksonness for when he comes home twice a year.
I thank the gods of small things that live under mushrooms that we won't have any of the same classes, at least.
I really am trying to be optimistic.