I’m taking a brief break from “homework” (ha) to post this entry. I’m in the living room eating, and everyone else is in there (mother, father, and the rat), which is an immediate no-no. In that infinitely calm (and infuriating) voice my father has, he says, “So what’s going on with your chores lately?” He goes on to state that mother told him that I haven’t cleaned the house in weeks and never do the dishes. After I explain it all away (and apparently my mother told him that I didn’t clean house today, and he extrapolated that I haven’t done it in weeks, which is not true), I find myself almost red with fury towards my mother. She drags all this shit between my father and me, then wonders why I never laugh at his jokes, or why I clam up and become serious whenever he enters the room. For some reason though, I can’t really bring myself to be as cold to my mother as I am to my father. She’s just as guilty of annoying the piss out of me as he; maybe it’s because she isn’t violent, like he can be. I feel like I like with three people the age of the rat (who’s 3): a tattletelling whimp, a temper-tandrum throwing manic-depressive, and the real three year-old that can’t even wipe her ass without help. Literally. I know I’m not much better, but I can’t even breathe around these people.