but don't forget to leave

mood: lonely
music: the beatles--"you know my name"
CPCetc: mrph.......

** ** ** **


I got back into BN about 22.40 last night after driving for FOUR FUCKING HOURS down a TWO FUCKING LANE HIGHWAY, which means that my mostly-constant speed of 55-60 mph got knocked down to 25-30 mph every twenty minutes because (hahahaha) we kept going through little dick towns like "Carthage" and "Macomb" and "Colchester". And after throwing all of the shite in the car into the house, the first thing that happens is the dog starts getting yelled at for being in the way. Gee, that's a great thing to come home to.

The rest of the evening involved Mum, Da and meine Tante attempting to convince me that not only should I go to prom, but I should go to prom with none other than Fredrick John Geyer the fourth.

Now, dear friends, let me explain why it is, exactly, that this is a bad idea.

Firstly, Fred isn't interested in me. Apparently, he doesn't find me to be completely unfortunate looking, but I am not nearly slutty, pretty, voluptuous or single enough to catch the eye of our comrade Fred. That's not me putting myself nor Fred down, that's just a fact. I'm sure he would back me up, though perhaps not on the slutty bit. Secondly, the reason why I haven't gone out of my way to get a prom date is because I don't particularly want to go to prom. Last I checked, nobody I knew was going to prom. I mean, Erik said something about maybe going, but I haven't heard that that's sealed in stone or anything, so he would be the only person there that I would know. Quite frankly, school dances don't get me hot and bothered like they're supposed to and I would rather save a couple hundred bucks and spend the evening of prom watching horrible movies with a bunch of friends or cuddled up on my ass-uncomfortable bed with Jonathan Safran Foer!

[note to self: get that book renewed]

The long and the short of it is that even my Da wants me going to my Junior Prom. And I'm not looking forward to this becoming A Thing.

The second topic of conversation turned out to be whether or not I was rocking on Jesus this morning. I said, very politely, in fact, that I would rather not rock on Jesus this morning because a.) I didn't get a lot of sleep the night before, b.) I'd been driving for FOUR FUCKING HOURS down a TWO FUCKING LANE HIGHWAY and c.) I wasn't going to get a lot of sleep last night either. Now I, in my wonderful existence of naiveté thought that that was the end of that and Mum would go to bed in a bit of a huff and wake up refreshed and decently pleasant the next day. Oh, no, Kiri Palm. You are a foolish, foolish girl. Whilst walking out of the fucking door my dear, loving, kind, exceptionally intelligent and reasonable mother informed me that I "this was not in the agreement" and she did not appreciate my breaking such a set-in-stone declaration. I kindly pointed out that I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about and she kindly informed me that we were going to have a discussion once she got home.

FUCK YOU MUM. I'm sorry, that was snippy of me, wasn't it? Let me try again. I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldst remove thyself from mine prescence and proceed to fornicate thyself, my dear, loving, kind, exceptionally intelligent and reasonable mother who did not reply last night when I told her I loved her.

I promised myself as I was driving back on that aforementioned two-lane highway that two things were not going to happen once I got back home: I wasn't going to fight with my mother and I wasn't going to be sad. Thus far, I have failed in both endeavors and the only things that seem good about being here right now are Sebastion and freezer-pops.

I know you probably think I'm being unreasonable about this and I'm sure that I am. But the fact of the matter is that I can't keep peace with my mother and I can't stop bitching about her. And, though this is somewhat unrelated, I really really don't want to have a fucking conversation with her about why I will not have anything to do with her religion.