there are little things that get me pissed off. i think it's part of my psychoness. like today, when someone called me that i never talk to, and i was like oh cool, someone actually calls me (because no one ever does)and it turns out that all she wants is my friend's cellphone number. when she asked, i was just like "oh." now i am sure she didn't mean anything by it and she probably really needed it, but what the hell do i look like,a damn phonebook? it's little things like this that piss me off. things that wouldn't get to normal people get to me. like the only time people ever talk to me is when they need something. and now all of this is making me depressed again even though it isn't a big deal, and i am not just saying i am depressed for attention, but the lady actually said i had it, and now i kno why everything bothers me like this and it's because of it. it's kind of like sinking slowly. everything little thing that goes on adds to it. and now i am in one of my classic bitchy moods, and all that's gonna happen is my mom is gonna tell me how miserable i am, meanwhile precious little mug does her homework and studies and plays nice and goes to be at 9. fucking asswipe, i hate her. oooh mommy, i forgot my gray marker, i need to go back to school to get it. a fucking marker! my mother fucking drives that asshole around because she forgot a fucking marker! do you know what she would say to me if i did that? "oh amanda, you need to learn responsibility, you never remember anything, you never do anything around this house, you let evetyhing go, i'm not dtriving you around everywherte just because you forgot something, you have to learn to be prepared." but she has no god damn problem driving little wonderful mug around, because god forbid she doesn't have a gray maker, the world might explode. boo fricken hoo. i hate them so much. i really do. oh and you know what else? tennis was canceled and i called my damn beast mother and she said she would pick me up at 3. so i go outside and wait. well, it's god damn 3:30 already and she isn't there so i call home and she says she's leaving now because "she was talking to my father." so i timed how long i sat out there on the steps waiting for her. it was 37 minutes. sorry i am such a waste of your time, mother. sorry i don't have rollerblades fucking built into my feet so that i can just glide home when you fucking forget to pick me up. it's just little things like that which make me hate her and my family. ok, i'm done.