another encounter with the 7th circle of hell

Well, that was a waste of forty-five minutes. I should be doing an essay right now, but thanks to the Fam Damily, I am in NO MOOD. She came home and griped, griped, griped, and then yelled at me when I got upset at her for doing it. So I told her why I was upset, and she twisted it and blew it out of proportion and has now decided that her entire being is worthless because "I told her so." And I thought we had been doing ok? HA!

I mean, is it so wrong to get upset when she tells me to clean the kitchen? So I do, and then I come in and find her re-arranging the dishwasher, and then bitching at me for not doing it! Is it so wrong to be kind of sad that the first words out of her mouth when she saw me were "I'm leaving, clean the kitchen, I swept the floor, you need to mop it." Then she leaves. No hello, no goodbye. No how was your day. Just and order and then her pissyness because I didn't do it good enough.


When will it ever be good enough?


((On a more ironic note, the evil disk that "guarded" my story is now being used by me as a coaster for my water glass. HEH. I hope it likes the water rings it's getting. Bastard deserves it.)


God, now I AM going to be up all night. Damn you, FAM.
:: Glo Paint 8:54 PM ::
...

And if one bitch fest wasn't enough, she came in and asked me what my problem was. So I told her, instead of keeping my mouth shut and letting her whine. So then she said I was just like my mom. And then yelled at me when I started crying about it.

There's no one I wan't to be LESS like than my mother. Her bad qualities, I mean. God, that hurt. And she knew it would, too. And that makes it that much worse.
:: Glo Paint 9:14 PM ::


...
I am in serious pain now. I, of course, got worked up, and started coughing really hard... and now my lungs ache and my throat is all raw and junk. My eyes are swollen, too.

What is wrong? The inhaler helps my breathing problem, but it isn't actually HELPING it. Get better I mean. What do I have wrong with me now? And why do I have this strange paranoia that it is in my head, and I'm making it up? I think its because people in my family have a tendency to do that. Maybe it is just stress from living with Satan and Co? All I know is that any time I get excited or upset...BAM! I can't breathe.


It's a dull ache, too. The kind that is most serious. But there is no way in hell that I am going back to that doctor again. Maybe I'll go to Rose's doctor.
:: Glo Paint 9:30 PM ::