Saturday, January 3, 2009

Another Day

Optimism, schmoptimism.
I just hope the weekend's over soon before I shoot my ears out from having to listen to my Dad chat up his Internet girlfriends that he made on the computer I hooked up for him.I tried to explain to him that this being how he cheated on my mother, it tends to bother me a bit, and I've received numerous apologies and assurances that I won't have to listen to the bullcrap, but I'm still hearing it all loud and clear, whether I want to or not.
Most of the time, he won't even do me the courtesy of closing his bedroom door.

Then on Monday, I can sit here at home waiting for him to bring back my car, perhaps on time for an appointment, perhaps not. (He's been using it since he got his repo'd.)I used up most of 3 weeks worth of good days trying to get to one appointment last month.

I keep trying to tell myself I should be grateful for having any help at all, but the pricetag it all comes with makes me sometimes think maybe being homeless wouldn't be so bad. I'm cute. Some guy would let me crash on his couch.

No, I don't feel trapped. Living with irresponsible children disguised as parents is fun. We still don't have a dining room (or any) table, or blinds, either.

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