I love mankind; it's people I can't stand.

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Feeling: Calm. Loving my life.
Eating: Um... life?
Drinking:Dasani water
Wearing: Jeans, black tank top with built in bra, lavender panties, eith a little sleeping kitty on them, my claddagh, green choker and matching earrings, contacts, vestiges of the day's make-up, black belt.

Listening to:
*Hummmmrumblerumblerumble* It's my washing machione making contented noises.
Chatting with:
Keeping my own counsel.
Thinking: "I need to concentrate on my posture more."
Remembering: Dave's tongue ring.
Glad for: My ability to move past fear into growth.

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Today is: 2003-04-26 - @ 10:52 a.m.
I love my family...

all time - is relative
Sometimes it almost bothers me how detached I am. I mean, the other day my mom sat me down and told me that she is going to try to leave my dad. I'm like, "OK,". Shouldn't this bother me? Shouldn't it freak me out that I am potentially leaving my beautiful, comfortable house, most likely not taking all of my stuff, to go live somewhere small with my mom? It doesn't. None of it matters to me. As long as I have access to a computer to keep this thing up, music, and friends, I will be happy. Is this mentally healthy?

So today I woke up about 8:30, 9:00, and I toddle out of my room to go to my bathroom, which is upstairs from my bedroom, and I have to go through the dining room. So I walk out there and discover about 6 people I DON'T KNOW sitting around the table, looking at this teenage girl who just walked in wearing skanky sleep-shorts, and a see-through wifebeater with no bra. NO ONE NORMALLY SEES ME BEFORE I GET DRESSED!!!! I did a prompt about-face and retreated to my room before they could see how tomate-like I got. Yeah. It was a nice way to wake up.

More signs my dad is slowly going senile: Yesterday, I asked him to pick me up at a clothing store up the street from his work after he got off at 5. At about 5:15, he calls me on my cell phone, demanding to know where I was. "I'm at Marshall's, remember? Come pick me up." So I grab my stuff to pay for it, and maybe 3 minutes after his initial call, my phone rings again. Guess who? "Dad. I'm at Marshall's. I will be outside in a second, just relax." And this is the man that is supposed to protect our household? I'm scared.

I've had Joel over about 8 times now. Dad has met him aout that many times. And yet, before I left yesterday to go have dinner at Joel's, he made me describe, once again, who Joel was.

Quote for the Entry: "Why didn't you tell me you were at Marshalls?" -My dad, after he picks me up.

*Sigh*


all time - is relative

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