Tomorrow is happy Going Home Day. We went out and fed the Bitchmobile [gah. BitchMOBILE, not BitchWAGON. Dad gets to drive THAT godawful thing] and bought sticky glitter snot hands and heard the voice of God at Wal Mart. This happens more often than one might expect.
I don't know how often I'll update at home. a couple times, at least. I intend to enjoy Saturday and Sunday offline anyway. While they are all gone, upstairs becomes my domain, and I need to roll around on the carpet and rub against the furniture to re-mark it with my scent. And shed on everything on which it will show up nicely, and push gum wrappers between all the cushions, drink up all the milk, and shred tissues all over the living room floor to express some discontent at being abandoned upon re-entry. Then, when they return, I will bite ankles and steal food off Mom's plate while refusing to eat my own dinner.
This is partially why I refuse to reproduce. If I had a daughter like me, I'd wring her little neck.
Actually, we would either be like Usagi and Chibiusa, or we would be inseparable and gang up on that boy.
heh. Mom and I swing back and forth.
It was Thanksgiving dinner in the dining halls. I ate enough stuffing, yams
, corn, and
pie to destroy me. Note to self: When tummy is upset, it does not want more food crammed into it.
I feel really bad for the poor blonde intern. I was so mooned out when I went to see her yesterday that I didn't want to talk about anything real and risk knocking myself out of Princess mode. I feel like this is all going to be a waste of her time, because I can't seem to get myself across to her, and Goddess knows getting me to talk about anything is like pulling teeth out of goldfish anyway. I have to try, but I don't know what I want from her. I don't know what I want from anyone, least of all myself. I want her to tell me what I want, and she won't do it. She shouldn't
do it, but I still want her to
someone, anyone, please
I was going to get up early and make ONE MORE FUTILE ATTEMPT at my graduation check, but I think I am going to let myself sleep and see if he is making REAL appointments after break instead of FAKE, WALK-IN ones.
Administration is of the devil. Frankie D. Minor sits on my lip when I pout
and sits on my shoulder and tells me to kill
maybe I will spit up more later if I don't go to bed. Everyone shine.