I should congratulate my dear friend on the extremely economical use of one word: cardigan, which elicited the following response: arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!
I mean, anyone who can needle another person, wielding just one word, across great distances, well, it's a feat, isn't it :)
It shows she knows my buttons all too well :\
Well, Dad always said I was fun to bait and hook.
BTW, I dislike the new naked skyline over our house, as shown to great effect by yesterday's setting sun, missing one and three half trees. Pout. Dad and I planted most of those, deciding we couldn't be arsed mowing half our tiny yard. It's expensive, insurance wise, but much more attractive than concrete, imho. We have frogs, so it's a total eco system (it's not unkempt, it's natural). Maybe I could apply for habitat funding, since a creek runs through the bottom of the yard when it rains.
Yesterday was not fun. AP had been mixing up noxious chemicals in the kitchen again and I suffered a violent and melodramatic allergic reaction to said overpowering fumes the moment I walked through the door, a reaction that went on all night until I finally left to go back into work.
I don't care if they say I'm a drama queen. I can't help being oversensitive to chemicals, especially growing up next door to an oil refinery and the factory that made Agent Orange, not to mention a river full of mercury and DDT. Pardon me for being a bit iffy around the brain addling throat constricting skin burning miasma.
I've always had a dreadful time around paint fumes, perfumes and solvents and the like. Most parents spend thousands of dollars on trying to get their kids through the HSC but my AP decides she can't wait three weeks and paints my brothers room during my exams (trans: A Levels, SATS). So I suffer thumping walls and hideous unventilated paint fumes and lose 150 points, fail to get into any of the universities of courses of my choice and my life is utterly ruined. And you know what, she can't even remember doing that. Of course not, it wasn't important to her, so why should she care.
I wanted to be a journalist so very badly. Ah well. Publishing press releases is as close as I get.
Needless to say I've not slept, nor did I watch tv or write (which was annoying as I'd gone home early with the express purpose of doing so). I did read some - anything to take my mind off the fact my skin was burning and I couldn't breathe. I hate her, I really do at times like these. She just doesn't care, not in the slightest.
Have resolved to go out tonight and avoid the House of Fumes, at least as much as possible.