I feel like a fugitive.
Every time that gate clicks open and I see my parents whisk away in the Merc, I lunge toward the running computer and grab the fucking mouse and type.
I need to blog.
My creative energy is clogged up inside of me, waiting to be let out. And every time I am forced to ignore it.
Writing is so passe.
I hate writing out my feelings, cos' mom or the shortpigfucker will somehow find it and read it.
Mom doesn't know how to use a blog, still.
next Friday. Maybe i'll snap lots of pictures and post em up here when I am finally free.
(Read the title, and you'll know what's this post about. Ignore, please.)