Friday, Sept 20, 10:30 pm

I’m sooooo tired.

Just one question: Why do parents have such a difficult time understanding that 5:00 am means that dish night ought to be obliterated from the face of my schedule?

I think I’m going to sound drunk in seminary tomorrow. And Ugly Pants Boy will become Slurred Syllables boy, because he’ll be sure to comment upon it. Odd thing is, lately he’s become even more merciless than usual. The other day he saw something that was written on my hand and accused me of never washing my hands. I explained to him that my fair complexion makes my skin easily stainable, but he would have none of it—he went to the bathroom, grabbed a paper towel, slathered some of that pink industrial ooze on it, and scrubbed my hand with it until the ink (and half of my epidermal cells) came off.

He sure goes to a lot of trouble to prove a point. What’s his problem, anyway?

Ooooh. Ski practice was brutal. Coach really ran me through the gamut. My abs are one solid knotted mass of knots.

G’night.