so it looks like no spice cake is getting made tonight. dammit. all the ingredients are standard things to have around, which of course means we don't. and my mother refuses to go five minutes out of her way after picking up my sister to visit a store. fuck this. i feel like crying because i really wanted to do this for you cuz you're awesome and all and i don't have anything else to give you...but apparently i don't even have this.

i would cry. but i don't do that. so i'll sit here and feel like i should be crying while waves of selfish hostility radiate from my mother's room.

some days life really sucks. mum's mad at dad, kit's a pain and my shadow, i'm confused about something (as are you), this tech thing is killing me, i have shitloads of homework to do.

scratch that. well not the sucky life part, but the spice cake bit. cuz my friends kick arse and they rescued me (my knights in shining armor!) hurrah for you.

me: eh, sickish + bitchy mother = generally bad. simple math.
jonathan: algebra
jonathan: yes
jonathan: from that we can deduce that generally bad - bitchy mother = sickish

hurrah.

(hallo kat. haha. oui!)

there's more i could post. like my [semisuccessful] attempts to resurrect the french i learned in seventh and eighth grades, creative porn, holes to china, other kickarse stuff. yay. you guys made my day infinitely better. you're...like prozac. except i don't have to pay lots of money for you.

kit: i have a ducky! a ducky! a ducky! i have a penis! [don't ask me, i'm copying this word for word] i will sing a song for you and it willl be about a purple tomato and it will live in a board of wood. it will die in a board of wood. i will sing you a song about a yellow window pane. it lives in a board. it will die in a board.

huh?

okay...

i don't want to know what she's smoking.

kit: willie. tell her [?] my answer is willie.

she's smoking pat!! haha....

must work. really. later all.