Today, I just wish I had something, anything more interesting to say then I plan to spend the weekend cleaning my apartment because I woke up with new bed bug bites on my arms. This was something I have expected I guess since they missed spraying last week and told me they aren't coming for another two weeks. New approach, my mother (who has been driving me slightly crazy for days) has gotten some sort of hand steamer for the furniture. I'll throw the couch a way if I have too.

I'll throw my whole life away if I have too.

My mother is sick again. How many more times can she get sick in one year. Five? Six? I'm sure if she would take just slightly better care of herself it would help. Eat something green just once in a while. Sometimes I feel like I know she's gonna die, it probably doesn't help that she tells me she won't live past 65.

It makes me feel like I'm just a little kid again and she's telling me she'll be moving out when I'm 18.

I don't like it.