"What are you doing messing around on the computer?  I thought you were writing an essay.  If you don't finish in twenty minutes, I'm gonna kick your ass." 

Really, mom, just how immature are you?  How the hell do you expect me to write a fucking essay in under twenty minutes?  Obviously you were smoking crack or something because that is the only logical explanation can come up with for your horrendously inane comment.  Yes, I am wasting some time on the computer because I can't think of anything to write at the moment.  No, I can not possibly finish three body paragraphs and a conclusion in under twenty minutes.   Thank you and good night, Ms. Daughter-dearest-can-you-please-write-my-resumé. 

And to think that Once Upon a Time I thought I had a good relationship with my mother.  *snort*

A nice chunk of my face is scratched off.  The reason why is that I refused to go to Saturday School today.  Yeah, yeah, not smart especially since today is---or should I say was?---double time.  But whatever.  I was in a pissy mood today which wasn't helped any when my sister woke me up at four in the morning and made me move from my "bed" on the living room floor so that she and "a friend" could talk.  Instead of at least trying to get out of it like I normally would, I mumbled a "yes" and went upstairs to sleep on her bed. 

Cut to seven o'clock with my mom saying "Get up!  You're leaving in [blank amount of time]!"  And I'm. Not. Happy. to say the least.  And I was not going which didn't make my mother very pleased. 

"You're going." she said.  Mmm-hmm...  Make me... 

And so we got into a fight.  And she hit me.  And I bit her.  So now my face is scratched up.  Oh, and I have a purple dot around my eye.  And my face is barely swollen.  And a tad bit red. 

Just by glancing at this you can totally tell that this is all my mom's fault. 

.... 

I'm just kidding, alright?  This was totally my fault, though my mom isn't innocent either.  I mean, yeah, I should've gone to Saturday school, but she didn't have to try to drag me out of bed when I made it obvious that my ass. Wasn't. Going. Anywhere. 

I can't stress this enough.  If I make up my mind, no one but my own little self is changing it.  Especially if they try using force.  You could beat my skull in and I wouldn't change my ways.  If anything it'd make it less likely.  I am that stubborn.  >:D 
----------------
On another note:  I hate my period.  At least this explains why I've been bitchy lately and my legs have been beyond sore. 

Ugh.  It doesn't help any that there aren't any pads in the house.  *cries*

I've realised for a while now that I don't use my journal a lot. I guess I don't have the energy/inclination to write down my thoughts and feelings... >_>;;

Not that big of a surprise there; I don't write my fiction either afterall.

I didn't write when I was so obsessed with Anthony (AKA Mr. Touchy-Feely), who told me that he liked and then had five girlfriends (on top of the one he had when he had first confessed) even after I told him face to face (as opposed to his MySpace confession). And yes, I'm still bitter. >:D

I didn't talk about going to Writer's Block and my happy discussion of fiction. XDD

Didn't write about the President's life story that she told us either... *reminiscing*

I didn't mention how Anime Club has become Naruto and Magic TCG Club. (It is, BELIEVE IT!!!) ;D

I don't talk about how these last few school years my abscences have been so bad that I've had a SAARB meeting and I was going to be thrown into a continuation school for my last half of eighth grade. Or how I was going in and out of major (at least it was major for me) depression throughout middle school and parts of my freshman year. I don't talk about how my anger was out of control and my favorite times were in the mornings outside in the park waiting for the library to open because I didn't want to go to school that day. How I liked the way the the light changed the way the tree leaves looked. I never mentioned how my heart almost stopped when the SAARB people caught me and that I made a last-ditch effort to get out of it that failed miserably. Or that my Saturday school hours kept on adding up and I can't seem to get them down.

And I've never talked or written about how sometimes I'm scared I won't be able to graduate from high school...

I don't think I can write about this anymore. I'm going to go eat the salty-tasting rice I made and read the Skip*Beat volumes I have saved on my computer. TT__TT