So this is Christmas, and what have you done....
Day before anyway, and I haven’t done much.
I am so freakin bored.
Last night Daddydear brought home a carbon monoxide detector, which went off immediately upon swallowing its batteries. Ooh goody. So he made us open all the windows...I suppose it’s better to freeze to death than asphyxiate or whatever. The nice little man from Light and Power came out this morning (well before I was awake) and said the levels aren’t high enough to kill us, just make us sick...AT LAST! An excuse! This is why I sleep so much, why my mom has hellish headaches, why my sister is generally stunted, why my dad is insane!
Speaking of dad being insane, he has decided I am going to become a Benadryl junkie and started making me take his Claritin prescription instead. If this gives me an acid trip, I’m suing the man for custody of the house. I noticed I produce still more mucus since I took that little white pill. Groan. I want to live in my plastic bubble.
It’s four-thirty and I haven’t bothered to get dressed yet...well, I’ve only been up three hours anyway, but still. I did bathe at least. Maybe today is not a day to get dressed at all. There’s no one to play with, online or offline. Punkie had to go away with her parents to the Real Airport to get her scary aunt, God knows where Puddi is (and surely I’m better off not), I haven’t kept in touch very well with anyone else. Slutter’s in Connecticut with some family or other, Sailorwombat leaves for Florida, everyone else is doing some cloying holiday thing. Here sits Kits, still plastered to the Pookie. Though I have ICQ, AOL IM, and Yahoo Pager (Yes, I gave up and downloaded the damn thing), NO ONE is online. Aaaaah. So I follow Mom around all day like a little lost thing, biting her leg and freezing her with my wet hair.
I had a Coke around here, I just know it....
I could work on the Lime Girls page but I’m waiting for Punkiepie to make the cute little graphics. I should fingerpaint. I’d make a mess in the kitchen but I’d only eat it. I’ve started to get grades in my e-mail. An A in the Pookieclass, B in geology, anxiously we await the other two. No one cares. I don’t care. I am a sleepy convoluted girl, everything has gone to hell, no one gives a shit and I would bore myself, feed my dementia, it’s hungry...I can already quote us. Wheeeeeee!
I should clean my room, look for my other glove, and listen to my long-lost lovely shiny records, who miss me so. But the Pookie is in HERE and my room is in THERE. Such lack of foresight on my parents’ part. I could sleep on the couch in here, I suppose. It’s no warmer in my room, since the furnace vent in the ceiling became stuck shut...Actually that’s a good thing, it means I’m the only one who won’t wake up dead. Wouldn’t have woken up. Bad grammar.
I am afraid of tomorrow. Probably I’ll want to sleep until two and be highly offended when my sister wakes me up to come open presents...I don’t WANT to. My mother is highly amused with herself, which frightens me. She says I don’t get to complain since I didn’t tell her what I wanted...I did too. A full frontal lobotomy, a pony, and a new ink cartridge for my printer. She means I didn’t tell her anything she felt like buying me.
Today we have a new trauma. Mama wants a hotmail. For most people, this is an easy process. One goes to the hotmail page and signs up. My mother has Net paranoia. I tell her she doesn’t have to put her real name on anything. She spends three hours thinking of something cute for her outgoing name. God, Mom, no one is going to track you down through your hotmail. Know why? NO ONE CARES. You’re not going to have such interesting e-mail exchanges that the Hotmail Gods are going to forward everything to the FBI or stalk you down themselves. It’s no more likely than the Insane Postal Workers going through your Christmas cards and deciding you sound like a good catch. It’s not like she knows more than four people to mail to anyway.
And it still won’t snow. It’s waiting for me to drive back to Columbia.
My head hurts. Someone open another window?
Maybe I’ll just make up and not get dressed.