running down a dream

Here I am.

I hate all my classes. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate. And that is all I have to say about that.

Mother mailed me and said my uncle's wife had her baby, which I thought a totally unnecessary action. This brings the total to six cousins and three step-cousins with which I am dubiously blessed. They named her Kira. There is a Barbie doll named Kira sitting on a shelf in the shower in my bathroom at home. They were going to name her Kimiko (his wife is Hawaiian)(My mother's sisters' husbands and brother's wife are not my uncles and aunts. The people they were married to when I was little were my uncles and aunts. They've all been divorced at least once, and the new ones and I ignore each other. The old ones and I ignore each other too. And so it goes), but my uncle's ex-wife (my ex-aunt?), the crazy Mormon, found out from their two kids (Kyle and Krysta)(The other set of cousins are named Tiffany, Steffany, and Brittany. Gag me with a slotted spoon) that they were going to name it Kimiko, so she named her cat that, because she knew Robyn wouldn't name the baby after a cat, and she's snarky and weird.

My whole family is snarky and weird. They're all coming home for Thanksgiving. If anyone would like to start a donation fund so that I can spend my break in Jamaica instead, I'd be fine with that.

Mama, her mama, and the two of her sisters who still live in that hole are coming to see me next Friday. I am glad. I need a reason not to run away before then.

I intended to write in here Thursday night, so I must have thought of something to say, but it has escaped me for the moment.

Last night I did laundry and read Slapstick, because someone reminded me of its existence. I managed to completely forget about my life in the process, and it was a slap in the face coming out of it. Lord lord lord. If I just survive this year, I will be a good girl, I swear. I didn't know I was being a bad girl now, but my karma seems to think I am. School is draining my will to live. This is not a bad school, I have just proven to be incapable of adjusting to it. Or perhaps the twelve hundred non-school stress factors in my life have rendered me incapable. It doesn't matter either way. This is the last year.

Surely next year will be better.

I've been saying that since I was twelve, and it hasn't happened yet.

Saturday Night Fever is on tonight, and I am going to watch it. If I can force myself to do all my reading before then, because tomorrow and Monday are for evilpookie and Java.

I need to mail my mother and then read Russian and psych and two chapters of econ so I can be a puddle of drool later. THIS IS WHY I DO NOT DRINK. Once I managed to lose myself for even a little while, I'd want to do it again and again and again and again.

I remember a surprising amount of things from being two and three and four. They should have sent me to a convent to be raised by nuns instead of sending me to school, even tiny private school. I was very very happy when I was very very little. I was fairly happy until I had to start public school in seventh grade. Then I began my slow descent into this bitter, neurotic, high-strung girl glomped to her keyboard.

THERE IS TOO MUCH BLOOD IN MY CAFFEINE SYSTEM. Good night, America.