I went for lunch with LP on Thursday, and I shared a bit of his soup (just a sip, actually). After lunch I felt a bit of soreness coming up in my throat (he’s still sick), and I smsed Monkey that I think I got LP’s virus. His reply:
You mean acting cute?
I just finished my last ciggie from that pack I bought in Singapore yesterday. Somehow, as it burned shorter and shorter, I grew desperately nostalgic.
I don’t understand my mum’s point. There’s no space at home per se, we are getting along so much better, and she wants to use money as a point – which I rarely ask for. In fact, of the 3 of us, I have needed the least money from them in the last 2 years. To make it worse, my sister’s like her. A gift means I get to keep it, not that I owe her something. If that’s the point, don’t say it’s a gift!
My mother can make my innocuous request for lunch with her into something that is totally not. I don’t know why I keep trying – I try to earn my keep, I try to keep contact, I run errands for them, and still I’m beneath the others. Fuck.
I need a fag.