Today was okay.
I hope I don't get moved in math. I talk too much in there, not all my fault though. The people around me need help, so they ask me because Sanders is busy helping out the people on the other side.
I got my F21 order in. I was pretty happy that I got it but my mom killed my mood.
My mom thinks I have some secretive boyfriend who I'm using for his money. Thanks mom. I'm glad you believe I'm like that. Geez.
She's been listening to my night-convos? Then she'll know I'm helping people with their homework. She should actually listen to the conversation rather than hear the deepness of the voice on the other line. She needs to accept the fact that I make better friends with guys than girls. (with the exception of the superduper awesome girls that I can get along with with no problem whatsoever.)
It's no use explaining it to her. She's only concerned with herself and family's benefits. If I explain to her that I'm helping them with their homework, she'll be like DON'T HELP THEM, THEY SHOULDN'T BE BOTHERING YOU. LET THEM DO IT BY THEMSELVES, YOU SHOULD BE CONCERNED WITH YOURSELF ONLY. & she's supposedly a believer in karma. No wonder she's so bitter.
I love my mom & all, but she's absolutely irrational and hypocritical. (I guess this is where I get my hypocrisy from.) If she continues thinking that I'm some friggen easy golddigger, I'm getting out.
I re-did my nails again for like the 3rd time this week. I'm pretty pleased with them this time.
Physics test tomorrow, kill me now.
Spanish test tomorrow, I'm not worried.
I didn't take my daily nap today.
So I'll sleep early tonight.
You know, back freshman year, I always wondered how my sister fell asleep with a bajillion stuff on her bed in her junior and senior year. I've come to realize, you just don't give a damn anymore. Hello spanish notebook, reading book, water bottle, nail polish, mp3 player, straightener, and stuffed animals. Wtf?
Goodnight.
Last day of September.
October = college apps.
Yay.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment