Awakened at noon by the doorbell, my friend is here to see me. I am half awake and we drink coffee and play Guitar Hero. I totally rock out still wearing my pyjamas. My father walks in, looks at my friend in disgust, and asks, 'What are you doing here?' He has chosen this day to work from home, and apparently there is now a rule against people visiting the house during the day. An hour later, friend is sent away, and I stand ashamed of my own father. He is so lacking in social skills.
Now it is time for me to get ready. Shower, clothes, make-up. Dick around for a while, eat, do a crossword, tidy up. Change into a shorter skirt, fine-tune the eyeliner, style the hair. I am heading out the door, as father is coming home from the shop. Cue argument, in which even my mother takes my side. Even she agrees that greeting somebody with an interrogation/critical rant is not good form. However the situation still ends with me telling my daddy to get the fuck out and die, and storming out. Yes, I am so mature.
I march to Belper powered by anger. It is a good way to make a journey fly by. I have things to do tonight. Meet my friend on the way, make a quick phonecall, go to a cashpoint, and go pick up. This is a task entrusted to me by others, and I must say I did rather well.
Next stop, boy's house. No more details for you on this. But he has to wake up at 6am the next morning, and screw it if I'm doing that, so it's back out, and to the pub I go.
Having eaten only a couple of snacks today, downing half a pint, a double and a single in an hour was surprisingly effective. Then cheesy ships with ketchup as I walk home with my brother and two of our friends. Oh yeah, and I have a thing with one of those friends too.
Oh, and all through this I was exchanging texts with another man.
Now I'm home, eating chocolate swiss roll (got to have at least one chocolate thing in a day) and chatting rubbish on MSN. It's 2.36am and I may soon go to bed.
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