Brain Hates Me

I really really fucking hate people touching my stuff.

It seems weird, I know, but it's mine, no? Why the hell are they touching it then? You might know that I am referring specifically to my dear darling parents. Right now it's eleven in the morning, Sunday, and I'm sneaking online following a particularly annoying incident involving my parents.

I don't like church. It involves me going there for no reason at all and pretending to love that almighty God whom I absolutely don't believe in. Anyway if I stayed at home I can sneak online, which is what I'm doing now.

So I kinda threw a tantrum - closing my eyes and ignoring them all. Until they began touching my stuff. I could HEAR them touching my things. Screw them. My stuff. MINE.

Parents don't like it when you ignore them.

Skip, skip, fast-forward. Because that part is for me to lock it in my memory and throw down a river when I have the chance.

Now's the time for interesting bits.

*Parents taps arm* Fuck you. Go away.
*Taps arm harder* Screw you.
*Taps arm even harder* Idiots.

We're wasting our time trying to get you up, why won't you just wake up?
Oh, duh. Because you ARE wasting your time. I'm not gonna get up. I have something to do when you FINALLY fuck off.

When we tried to get you to sleep last night you didn't want to. Now look.
Duh again. I had something I wanted to do last night - which I could only do if I stayed awake. Now I have something to do - which I could only do if you all fucked off and the easy way for you all to go off and leave me here is to do this. So, yeah.

My dad took my phone.

MY PHONE. MY PHONE, BASTARD.

That's my connection with my friends, since the internet requires a fucking password from you (which, by the by, you told me then forgot you told me. I am still gloating about that) so I have to resort to sms. Which you kindly gave me five hundred a month.

Still pissed.

Feels bad.

Screw parents.

FUCK YOU, GOD. SCREW YOU AND YOUR BLOODY STUPID HEAVEN.

This, I think, would make all my Christian followers run away as fast as possible. Or try and preach to me.

If I had any followers at this stage.

Do you know, I just found out that... *Slumps* I forgot. My brain and I don't have a stable relationship. It's quite fickle. And it doesn't understand the word 'faithful'. Lol.

In fact my brain annoys me to no end. If it can absorb Maths and Science and English and German (note that I didn't say Chinese, because I just fucking hate it) like a frickin sponge, then why won't it give me my plots for my stories???

Godammit, brain. I KNOW I have those plots inside somewhere. Give them back!!! My imagination belongs to me, and don't you argue that it's yours cuz it lives in you.

No, dammit. Imagination is MINE. And so are those plots. So give 'em.

By now you'd probably think I'm insane.

You'd be right too.

/EDIT/: 11 June 2012: Note the childish narration. I kind of hate my child!self