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Stuff About Tony. Will email him privately. It's just too embarrassing. Thought about linking to his blog (he doesn't use LJ, he wrote his own code) but that might be a bit too much. Many Dilemmas Exist Here.

Work Sucked. Gave my two weeks notice at work. Called Cherie and she bitched me out, sorta. Came home and my dad's insisting on erasing any evidence of me living here. On the other hand, he's driving me to my storage unit. I have to be nice to him, I haven't paid rent all summer, and he's helping me pick a car to buy and helping me move in two weeks.

I think I can live on my financial aid. As a matter of fact, I'll be living on the same amount of money per week, that I did when living with Bink. Might try to get an Xmas job though. I'd love to work at Finnegan's toy store. They rock. And hopefully they'll stay within an 8 hr/week schedule when I'm in class. *lol* Just the idea of working downtown when I live in Cornelius. But if I go with Food not Bombs for my community service stuff for school, I'll be downtown all the time anyway. So there.

Ugh. Need a car. Hate cars. Hate being stuck in CORNELIUS in the middle of nowhere. I mean, the place isn't even in Cornelius proper. Take the Max to the next-to-last stop in Hillsboro. Drive south for five miles. Hang a right. Boom. There I am. I'd get a vespa and just take Max everywhere, but that five miles has a wetlands with a steep drop off on either side, a straightaway that people pull at ninety, and no lighting to speak of. So anything that has less than four wheels and isn't a Harley (which you can hear from a distance) is probably a baaaad idea.

I'm so stressed out that I've had the same headache for about a week. I felt it coming on earlier, while I was at work, and touched my neck and realized it was hard as a brick. OH JOY.

DJ gets back tomorrow. Much rejoicing by Bink.

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Goddamnit. Why can't my dad mind his own damn business? Just now he came downstairs bitching because the bathroom was dirty and he says it's all my mess. Um, no, the *clutter* might mostly be mine, and part of the hair, but it's his bathroom too. He's the one dragging newspapers up there. So he demands to know when I'll clean it. Tomorrow's too busy. The next day at the earliest. "Why not now?" Um, 'cause it's late, and I want to go to bed soon? Because I work another full shift tomorrow? Because who the fuck cleans the bathroom at eleven at night? He says Chris hates using it. Chris never told ME this. So *he's* going to clean it tomorrow. What the fuck. It's not his bathroom. Okay, he's cleaning it *now*. I will never get to bed on time. He's all pissy and shit.

ARGH all over.