seventeen, on a hot Sunday afternoon with Pink Floyd on my headphones, Volume: full blast. Propped open: Palahniuk. Room: a mess. Today is just like that. It's teenage angst all over again.
Except that C just texted, ruining the momentum of this post. I'm sorry, I gotta call him up. It has been a depressing week for everyone.
HOLD.
Heh. I forgot that I have an unfinished blog post. C's down. What can I do to cheer him up? I'm as depressed as he is. Bah. Anyway.
I just want to say that I don't like handling drunk fathers. Nobody does. So why don't you, fathers of the world, stop being such alcoholics and be good? NO, you can't be a good father and an alcoholic at the same time. My friend J thinks that he can though. He believes that if he's honest to his sons about his drinking and smoking and if he does it in front of them they would appreciate his honesty and grow up responsible and cool without having any ill-feelings whatsoever toward their father. NO. Trust me, I hate days when my father's been drinking, which is like almost everyday. He drinks everyday but he doesn't get drunk everyday. And when he does I just want to go away. Thus the deja vu of my seventeen-year-old Sunday afternoon. i AM ranting.
GET ME OUT OF HERE.
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