safety in snowglobes
There is another semester down. I have one final on Monday and two on Tuesday, and then I am HALF DONE with this. I did end up with an A in intermediate, which I thought was going to be impossible due to my abysmal participation grade, but he pushed it up just barely enough, so now I don't have to sit for that final. I returned the textbook today. I would rejoice, as that's twenty pounds off my shoulders, but I know I get it back again next semester. I am half-tempted to "lose" that one in May just so I can BURN it.
Unfortunately, I do have to take the business law and tax finals. The other one is for a fake pookie class and does not count. I would have to try pretty hard to screw up my four-point at this juncture, but NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE. Baker teaches both business law and tax, so I am motivated to study.
We filled out the teacher evaluations Thursday. One line: "The man is maddening, yet somehow I adore him."
Miyu has had his annual shots. I demanded a full report from Mother, who told me that he weighs nineteen pounds but, according to the vet, is not overweight in the slightest, just that big ("He's bigger than some dogs we see in here!"). He also said Miyu must be part Manx to be that size and that color.
Literate cat. He attempted to eat it and then threw up, which I believe was my reaction the first time I read it to myself.
Obligatory cuteness.
(Links don't always work on Friday nights. Don't make me explain. The vein in my forehead will throb, and I will salivate blood.)
Something has moved into the attic/crawl space/hell over the dining room and is doing laps. Something makes squirrel-like running noises and bird-like chirping noises. It refuses to run or chirp when Dad is home, so he thinks Mom and I are delusional. Miyu knows, but I am not putting him up there to kill it. If this is going to involve humane traps or any kind of bait, I want nothing to do with it.
The boy was here. I was awfully wired by the time he arrived and was not fit for human society, but he stayed anyway (flat tires make escape inconvenient).
Thanksgiving was probably traumatic enough to balance out the parrot incident. My family collectively needs some kind of sedative, and my uncle's friend Scott needs to spend a few years with Miss Manners. If I didn't know my real parents only left me here until the war ended on my home planet, I would have a problem with my potlicker blood, but it's not my problem.
I wish that man would not hug me. It always lasts about five seconds longer than I am comfortable with. I wish my aunt would not try to play Competitive Eating Disorders, because it disturbs me and all others present, and I wish my dad would not tell me I have nice legs. I would also like world peace and a pony for Christmas.
I am never taking the boy to see anything but Disney movies ever again. I will be kind and refrain from further comment.
Brat and her ditzy Kati and he and I put the nice fake tree up the day after, as we have done every year since I've been old enough to remember (1984). Miyu thinks he needs to dig up the tree skirt. I am going to make it into a little straitjacket.
Mother felt it necessary to take her yearly pictures of us looking mildly retarded in front of it.
In which we restrain the cat.
Happy fucking holidays.
Then we all ate my hideous chili of doom.
(yay for hideous chili of doom.)
We managed to remove ourselves from this shithole on Saturday but were sucked back into the Walmart vortex for several hours. I met the day's ultimate goal of not breaking any bones in my first venture at ice skating since age fifteen and only fell on my arse once. I need ski poles.
I didn't cry very much Sunday. Neither did I accomplish anything at all.
This week has been vile. I am annoyed today because I am not supposed to work next week and was not informed until this morning, which means I am going to be sad and broke month after next (student employees get paid in the least convenient manner possible), but there will probably be birthday money from Mother then anyway.
My infidel of a little sister wants some goddamned video game Thing, and my shortsighted father was actually going to ask ME about it. If the boy hadn't been here, that might have been ugly, violent, and on the news at ten.
I refuse to be part of any collective. I am the one shown in the opening sequence who never actually appears in the series. This is best for all concerned.
bleah. spewing of vicious bile, hateful hissing, spite spite spite, &c.
I like the extended holiday season. I like turning on the radio at random and having Paul make Christmas songs at me. I like shiny decorations. I like pretending that my family is normal and okay and functional and loves or likes or can tolerate each other even though I am the only one who is even coherent at this point. I LIKE IT EVEN IF IT IS COMMERCIAL AND SHITTY, AND NO ONE CAN MAKE ME STOP. My cynical streak is due to an exceptionally low tolerance for stupidity, but I am essentially four years old.
It is five degrees below freezing in here, and I was supposed to go to bed an hour ago. Tomorrow I need to make three thousand notecards for business law and go help some girls with their tax return. Some of them pretend to like me so they can check my answers; Baker let them find out what I got on my last test, so they all secretly hate me now. THEY can all hate me, as long as HE likes me.
Now it is time to play the most fun game, as soon as I go play the second most fun game. w00t.
Unfortunately, I do have to take the business law and tax finals. The other one is for a fake pookie class and does not count. I would have to try pretty hard to screw up my four-point at this juncture, but NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE. Baker teaches both business law and tax, so I am motivated to study.
We filled out the teacher evaluations Thursday. One line: "The man is maddening, yet somehow I adore him."
Miyu has had his annual shots. I demanded a full report from Mother, who told me that he weighs nineteen pounds but, according to the vet, is not overweight in the slightest, just that big ("He's bigger than some dogs we see in here!"). He also said Miyu must be part Manx to be that size and that color.
Literate cat. He attempted to eat it and then threw up, which I believe was my reaction the first time I read it to myself.
Obligatory cuteness.
(Links don't always work on Friday nights. Don't make me explain. The vein in my forehead will throb, and I will salivate blood.)
Something has moved into the attic/crawl space/hell over the dining room and is doing laps. Something makes squirrel-like running noises and bird-like chirping noises. It refuses to run or chirp when Dad is home, so he thinks Mom and I are delusional. Miyu knows, but I am not putting him up there to kill it. If this is going to involve humane traps or any kind of bait, I want nothing to do with it.
The boy was here. I was awfully wired by the time he arrived and was not fit for human society, but he stayed anyway (flat tires make escape inconvenient).
Thanksgiving was probably traumatic enough to balance out the parrot incident. My family collectively needs some kind of sedative, and my uncle's friend Scott needs to spend a few years with Miss Manners. If I didn't know my real parents only left me here until the war ended on my home planet, I would have a problem with my potlicker blood, but it's not my problem.
I wish that man would not hug me. It always lasts about five seconds longer than I am comfortable with. I wish my aunt would not try to play Competitive Eating Disorders, because it disturbs me and all others present, and I wish my dad would not tell me I have nice legs. I would also like world peace and a pony for Christmas.
I am never taking the boy to see anything but Disney movies ever again. I will be kind and refrain from further comment.
Brat and her ditzy Kati and he and I put the nice fake tree up the day after, as we have done every year since I've been old enough to remember (1984). Miyu thinks he needs to dig up the tree skirt. I am going to make it into a little straitjacket.
Mother felt it necessary to take her yearly pictures of us looking mildly retarded in front of it.
In which we restrain the cat.
Happy fucking holidays.
Then we all ate my hideous chili of doom.
(yay for hideous chili of doom.)
We managed to remove ourselves from this shithole on Saturday but were sucked back into the Walmart vortex for several hours. I met the day's ultimate goal of not breaking any bones in my first venture at ice skating since age fifteen and only fell on my arse once. I need ski poles.
I didn't cry very much Sunday. Neither did I accomplish anything at all.
This week has been vile. I am annoyed today because I am not supposed to work next week and was not informed until this morning, which means I am going to be sad and broke month after next (student employees get paid in the least convenient manner possible), but there will probably be birthday money from Mother then anyway.
My infidel of a little sister wants some goddamned video game Thing, and my shortsighted father was actually going to ask ME about it. If the boy hadn't been here, that might have been ugly, violent, and on the news at ten.
I refuse to be part of any collective. I am the one shown in the opening sequence who never actually appears in the series. This is best for all concerned.
bleah. spewing of vicious bile, hateful hissing, spite spite spite, &c.
I like the extended holiday season. I like turning on the radio at random and having Paul make Christmas songs at me. I like shiny decorations. I like pretending that my family is normal and okay and functional and loves or likes or can tolerate each other even though I am the only one who is even coherent at this point. I LIKE IT EVEN IF IT IS COMMERCIAL AND SHITTY, AND NO ONE CAN MAKE ME STOP. My cynical streak is due to an exceptionally low tolerance for stupidity, but I am essentially four years old.
It is five degrees below freezing in here, and I was supposed to go to bed an hour ago. Tomorrow I need to make three thousand notecards for business law and go help some girls with their tax return. Some of them pretend to like me so they can check my answers; Baker let them find out what I got on my last test, so they all secretly hate me now. THEY can all hate me, as long as HE likes me.
Now it is time to play the most fun game, as soon as I go play the second most fun game. w00t.