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2005-07-25 - 10:21 p.m.
WARNING: RANT

I don't know how much more I can do. I've applied, what, eight places? I mean, I'm not going to give up and just refuse to attempt employment, but I can't exactly help the fact that my services weren't needed.
Everyday, I do something around the house. At least once a week, I clean the whole damn place, and I am talking dusting and vaccuming, and somehow managing to make sense of the chaotic mess that is this house. I water the plants, which takes a good bloody hour per side of the house. I set the table, offer to help with dinner, I've gotten gas, usually do the dishes, and am perfectly able to keep a house running on my own.
I don't know, but it seems very odd to me that she checks my account balance every day, to see where I've been. So, I went to Jugo Juice. Yes, its an extravagence, but I didn't realize that by buying a "Righteous Red", I was starting World War III.
I wrote all the bloody thank you notes for my fucking cheap relatives, thanking them for a piece of shit bracelet that is so tacky, even Madonna in the eighties wouldn't have worn it. (Sorry if you're a Madonna fan).
I'm sorry I don't have enough to do. I try, but it is really damn hard to play tennis by yourself. Sorry none of my novels have worked out. Its called writer's block, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Yes, I watch a movie every night, but so far as I can tell, that is not equal to watching five hours of tv or Buffy everyday.
Why is it fair for you to continue to use examples of my irrational behaviour from two years ago? I always do what I am asked, now.
Wonderful, my mother is resentful of the fact that I have a social life, and am no longer so cripplingly depressed as to hardly be able to leave my room, and therefore having my mother as my only friend, although this behaviour could really lead me back there.
No, I didn't do much this weekend, but that is not through fault of mine. I don't really think anyone would choose to sit at home in time to wait for their mother to get up from a two hour nap after doing the exhausting chore of taking in some pictures to be developed, so that they can watch her down four glasses of wine. And I use "watch" loosely, because, really, its only the aftermath of the glass I find hidden in the corner of the counter.
I love living in a house where I am so scared as to dare be in the wrong room, for fear of being told in a very, lovely, long, and well rehearsed speech of all my shortcomings.
No matter what effort I make, it is never enough, and I don't know what I can do anymore. I can't leave, I have no money, because, well, no job (which while you may gripe because of yours, you are making money, out of the house, and have the potential to be able to leave the house). I have to sit through a year of fucking useless university. I quite frankly am not looking forward to a load of work which is overly heavy, and in the end, will add up to a useless degree so that I have to go back and get a degree for some fucking job I don't even want. Let's face it. Nothing in this world works or can happen without money.
I am stuck in this monotonous little path everyone travels, and when I can manage to muster enough mental clout, enough esteem to try and find a way to better things, to make a change, everything backfires. A month ago, things were looking wonderful. Amazing how fast things can change.
I hate this backhanded tact of hers where she yells about me behind closed doors, full well aware of the fact that I can hear every stabbing little thing she says.
Sorry, how many glasses of wine did you have again?
No, I'm sorry, that answer is incorrect. Four was the answer, not, "I am fucking sick of how ridiculous you are. You need to get a life. You only do things for your dad. With me, I get screamed at. Arggghhh.." [Stomps off at 9pm, because is already ready to pass out, but manages to come back down at 10:40 to resume yelling at myself and my brother, who by all accounts is much better natured than I am, and spent two weeks volunteering at COP].

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