The way things are around here these days, my parents will be in the running for the Olympic event designed for them: Synchronized PMS.
My parents have done it. They have perfected the act of synchronizing their pissy fits, something that has been in the works since 1976. First they stop me from going to Katie’s birthday party, which I figured was coming, because every time I tell my parents about my plans more than twelve hours in advance, they find some reason for me not to go, and then tonight I walk in from walking the dog and they’re both screaming at each other, and then their target becomes none other than me. I am so sick of this place. My dad threatened to kick me out, which, to tell you the truth, wouldn’t be so bad. I could probably find somewhere else to live, because I know my friends will stand by me.
About an hour ago, I started comtemplating suicide. I know I have way too much to live for, but that would be the ultimate punishment for my parents. But, I’d hurt my friends more, and I don’t want to hurt many of my aquaintances. The armor of my soul is rusty, worn down from years of the same treatment at home.
A little side note: I’d like to make it clear that under no circumstances will I attempt suicide without talking my problems over with one of my close friends. So don’t get too upset, please, because I don’t want this document to end up in court as a testiment to my current level of sanity, because I am quite sane and not suicidal.
I just realized: this song (Godsmack’s Voodoo) is talking about death by snakebites. On a related note, read my last post. It’s quite a… strange… coincidence.
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