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Adrienne is feeling cynical today.
[1:45AM this morning] I didn't know the date until I looked at the calendar. A month until Christmas. Whoo hoo! Aw, kitty climbing on my back. How on earth does she know exactly when I'm going to bed? Well, I told dad I was going to bed, anyway. Not a lie, you know? I'll get there sooner or later. I have three things on the agenda for tomorrow (er... today?), my next aimless day of nonexistant structure. I swear, this Thanksgiving break thing is killing me, and I've only been off since Tuesday. First of all, I gotta get that overdue book back to the library. (Heh, if it's twenty cents a day, I have comfort in knowing I only owe sixty cents.) Next on my schedule will have to be embarking upon the calculated 2864 situps and crunches it'll take to work off Thanksgiving dinner. (Damn holiday side effects.) (Eugh, I think I feel a flea under my left ear, but Loo is sitting on both my arms. Damnit. I wish all the fleas of the world would drop dead. They do no good whatsoever.) And then I gotta write, 'cause Fahnestock left those three stories in my mailbox and I feel so vulnerable with them as they are now that he's given them back to me. >_< But I guess, on the bright side, if I was a terrible writer, someone would have pulled me aside by now to inform me of my true calling in the magical world of dentistry. Oh, and practicing cello would be a good idea, what with that mysterious spur-of-the-moment (or is it?) seating test (or is it?) coming up (or is it?) in orchestra I could clean my room. Or not. All the rough drafts sitting around my room should be put somewhere. They make me look like I'm writing, while at the same time serving as functional places to put my dirty shoes on top of so they don't get the carpet dirty. And I can have comfort in the fact that my room can never be as messy as my parents' is. Ha. But that lump in the middle of the room has to go. Oh wait, that's my brother. Since when doesn't he have his own bed? Why's he have to camp out on my floor? Two o'clock. I swear, I'll panic if the sun comes up and I'm still sitting here. I'm not even tired. ...Too tired to start those crunches though. Eh, save it for later. Gah. I'm gonna gain 10 pounds. I'm afraid to step on the scale for fear of breaking it. (I guess I shouldn't feel too bad, because dad's weight doesn't break it, it just offsets it by about 7 or 8 pounds when he uses it.) Mum's still insulting fat people every time she sees one. She reminds me of someone I know through Michele: skinny as a rail and still saying that certain people sure don't fit in their homecoming dresses. Next mum's gonna move on to criticizing people my size, while I sit (or stand) on the sidelines, cringing, wondering if it's all some kind of sick reverse psychology method of disgusting me into busting my ass skinnier. Am I everything my parents want me to be? Probably not. Mum wants me to be more independent and stuff. Dad... haaa. He recommended a book to me today because it has a gay character. I have a feeling he doesn't know me that well. "Hey, I know a book you might like. You can borrow it." Now my dad thinks I'm gay, does he? Yeah, he definitely doesn't know me that well. *Rolls eyes* Speaking of Dad, he's really intensely into that book the marriage counselor recommended. He hasn't read a book in years, being too busy plugged into the BBC and OTR (OTR = Old Time Radio) every hour of the day. It's funny; every time I see him with his nose in Making Love Happen: A Guide for Couples or whatever the hell it's called, it never seems like he's any further along that the last time I looked. And I just finished a novel (admittedly a young adult, fast read, but still) in one sitting. He even noticed. "You read that really fast." Yes, I'm quite proud. It's two-ten, is he ever going to bed? Well, I suppose I'm not supposed to be up to be wondering this sort of thing. Eh, I think I'm gonna turn in now, rare cynical side and all. -Adrienne
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