feist heist

I hate Father's Day. Enough said.

Some people in my writing class and I are doing readings at a coffeehouse tomorrow night. Needless to say, I'm scared shitless. I can't stand performing my own work, especially when most of it is so personal. I haven't yet figured out how to create somthing worth reading, while at the same time isolating myself from the piece. I guess that, like the confidence to do a public reading (even in an informal setting), will come with time and practice.

I'm 100000% over dealing with my family. As of now, I'm just living with them, that's it. I can't stand the constant battle for my autonomy. It's exhausting and quite frankly, I don't care anymore. It's not worth the fight. Regardless of what they say, I am my own person and it's their fault if they refuse to recognize it.

On my run earlier, I saw one of those annoying, rat infested ice-cream trucks that kids flock to laying on it's side in the middle of the road. I guess it got into some sort of accident or somthing and because it's so boxy, it tipped over. No true loss there. I think they had it coming, that music is a glutton for a beating. Numerous, actually.