...my life will return to normal. But until then I suppose I shall just have to live with whatever happens. Whatever will be, will be....que sera, sera. Hmmm, sounds rather spanish.
Right, so spent this morning doing laundry and was about to put the cookie dough onto trays (barefoot and in the kitchen, I might add) when my dad walks in (off of work early) and asks me if I want to go to town. So I put the cookie dough in the fridge and skipped off in search of Mark's Christmas present (which is nowhere to be found...seriously, I looked in like 8 stores). Instead, I got money to pay for my license plate sticker and some pocket money and visted my grandma. And was told I looked like a hutterite. Seriously, it was just a skirt! I walk into my grandma's bedroom, "look grandma, I'm wearing your skirt!" "Oh, you look like a hutterite". What is up with my family abusing me today? When I told my dad that I was barefoot and in the kitchen, thus it may be rather difficult to go to town, he said "good, right where you should be". Granted, it was in a joking tone, but that seems to be how the Wellers like their women; barefoot and pregnant, cooking something in the kitchen. And then, when I told him I lost some of my freshmen 15 but was still a little over 120, he was all "wow, talk about your hippopotamuses". Geez.
Mark came over for a few hours today, which was nice as I haven't seen him in like, a week. Again, I was barefoot and in the kitchen finishing up the cookies when he arrived, but really, what is a girl to do?
My mother is seriously depressing me the more I'm at home. Today's lovely bit was (addressed to my father) "if she's going to go, I hope she goes while Mary-Ellen's at home so it doesn't interfere with school". Yes, I hope my grandma dies while it's convienent for me to attend the funeral. That's really my first concern. Gah. Anywho, I have a breakfast to go to tomorrow. At probably bloody 9 o'clock in the morning. My God, that's early.
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