Medusa wouldn’t listen to me, and shouted as much into my right ear, which is numb. I dropped my diplomacy along with my ingratiating tone at that point, I think, and—saints preserve us—said the h-word. So she told me I couldn’t have a friend sleep over. And when that didn’t make me throw myself at her feet, she grounded me for the weekend. Oh, the humanity… & thEn KrisTi caLleD –n- tOld mE NaNCi tOld heR ThAt MaRci toLd hEr thAt LEONARDO DICAPRIO DIED!!!!! –n- tHaT SHarI sAw mAh BaBiE kiSSin SHEILA beHiNd tHe 7-11 (!!!!!:() –n- tHaT tHe pOpuLar gRRlZ dOn’t HaVe rOOm 4 Me NEmore @ tHeIr LuNch tAblE, sO I’ll haFta siT w/tHe FrEaKz!!!!!!!…

I wish she wouldn’t treat me like I’m twelve. Or maybe I unconsciously act like I’m twelve and its all self-deserved. Any twelve-year-old, I suppose, would have gone to her room, locked the door, and curled up in a fetal position on her bed with her fingers in her ears. I wanted to jam headphones over my ears, but didn’t want to look for them, seeing as she’d cleaned my room and rearranged everything, so fingers had to suffice. Experimental simulation, that’s all, not puerility. But a twelve-year-old would stay in her room sulking, and possibly break down upon having her weekend snatched away, whereas I whipped out the Baudelaire and buried my nose in it. So it seems I’m juvenile as well as pigheaded, not to mention selfish, slothful, petulant, demanding, and hideous. And I never make any effort to help anyone unless there’s something in it for me.

She sent the little Gorgon to my door to try and talk sense into me. If that ain’t role reversal, I don’t know what is. And, heavens, the poor kid makes a lousy diplomat. Hasn’t had the necessary years of practice.

I’m the good kid, the eldest, the one who’s supposed to set an example, even though the Gorgons never followed it anyway. I wonder, are there ever points for trying? Its human nature to exploit others’ flaws while glossing over their far less numerous good points, neh?

She’s not driving me home next week, and claims the Curmudgeon won’t either. Funny she should know; they haven’t had a civil conversation in months. And then, I can walk home from school. Might take me a few hours, but its doable. I wonder what else she thinks she can take away; there’s not so much. Except….

Damn you, Medusa, don’t you dare touch my books. Or Robin. They’re as close to actual human contact as I can get, and far more appealing than the real thing.

I hate screwing everything up, but who doesn’t? Its just the redundancy… Hell and damnation, I wish I could do something right for once in my life. It would be so refreshing.

Mao, I’m sorry. I could salvage this if I wanted to; she says I can still have you over if I (ahem) do her bidding. But I don’t think I want to. I’d rather cling to this shred of bone I have, to see how long it’ll last. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can, or e-mail you, unless my twelve-year-old personality repels you. Again, I apologize for being an idiot.

Time to end the angst binge. Adieu.