P.S:

Hahaa, no the title of that last blog was not in reference to the fact that today is Sunday.

I didn't go to church today; I'm feeling incredulously off. It's funny, because my mother had a big go at me this afternoon for letting so many people down, yet when I said: "Well maybe someone should fill in for me once in a while - it seems perfectly okay for everyone else to ask me to fill in for them every damn Sunday." she actually couldn't think of anything else to say. I found it hysterical.

Apparently, I have a 'reputation for being unreliable, uncooperative and a bit of a hand full'. This is probably true, but this 'reputation' has meant that one of my mom's friends is refusing to put in a good word for me at a shop where she used to work, who are looking for part time staff. She said that if I hadn't have bailed on church this morning then she would have considered it. This fact has made me sit up in my room all fucking day watching One Tree Hill, in the clothes I slept in with a really, really big headache, a scowl and an unwillingness to prove her wrong and try my best to get the job without her 'good word'. The only thing I've gotten out of this is the realisation that Lucas Scott is the perfect boy for me, that the clothes I sleep in are fucking ridiculously comfortable, I'm taking paracetamol way too often for a girl my age, and I'm stupid, lazy, and really annoying.

I did try and do something productive and apply for some other vacancies online, but after going through various forms in steps and being told that I don't even meet the minimum requirements fourteen fucking times, I gave up. It angered me, hence the decision to numb my mind with One Tree Hill (which, consequently, I'm now obsessed with). I mean, come on - how hard is it to operate a till? Or how hard is it to look fake for a bunch of people who want to buy overpriced clothes? I hate this all. It's all so trivial. Jobs are the same as guys. The thought of them scare me, and experience always seems so damn necessary and important. Someone please send me both a job I can get, and Lucas Scott. Seriously, I'll take care of both of them.

I'm in a vile mood today. In fact, I've been in a vile mood for the last couple of weeks.

Also, my mother has decided that yet another rule needs to be added to the list of 292828292894892421955800335 we already have. And this one is: You have to be in your rooms, with lights out by 10pm, and up, out of bed, dressed and fed by 8am. If you're found out of your beds after 10pm you will be fined. If you are found to still be asleep at 8am you will be fined. Steppy added that he will be checking around 11pm if people are in beds, by walking into bedrooms without knocking. He said the latter part rather firmly.

I'm sorry - but that kind of parent walks into a teenager's room without knocking at night?! No way is he fucking walking into my room at 11pm without making me aware he is coming in. If I'm asleep, that's even stranger. I'd rather someone wake me up before coming into my room, than coming in and watching me sleep. I'm not even kidding. And another thing: I'm not seven years old. I am old enough to know that sleep is important. AND it's fucking SUMMER. THIS IS MY FUCKING BREAK FROM RULES AND ROUTINES THAT WERE INFORCED BY SCHOOL; WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU THINK I'D BE HAPPY WITH THEM IN MY OWN HOME?!

I can't chew gum in this house. I can't speak when I'm not spoken to during dinner times in this house. I can't leave a room without asking in this house. I can't join a conversation unless I'm invited into it in this house. I can't put forward my opinions if they clash with someone else's, in this house. Haha, oh wait, this isn't a home, this is a fucking joke. Shit - I'm in a book. I'm in one of those books with the evil step parent who tries to replace a dead parent by putting thousands of stupid rules and regulations in place and by making me feel like shit all the time. I should be called Cinderella, but I guess that'd be wishful thinking: no prince would ever get his paws on one of my shoes - I hate people going near my feet, he wouldn't get a chance to see if it'd fit and I'd never get the happy ever after. Plus, fuck that - I'm sure Cinderella was ginger.

I bet most of this makes no sense.