Dippy's bouquet's back in my arms! Or rather, I headed to the florist to pick it up, then left it safely in Dippy's room. I think my dad chewed the florist's ears off last night.
It all seems to be a repetition of what was once again. The usual
this-is-affirmation-that-my-daughter-sleeps-around,
her-hour-long-journey-home-is-a-lie, tension!hightension!, and the assumption that every move of mine means sexual contact with a male. So yes, I charge bouquets in exchange for sex.
Dad isn't talking to me. Making small talk is alike addressing the empty chair. I hate the tension.
Please, just reach out and hurl me against the wall like you used to do.
On another note, I worry about my legs. There's a hairline crack in my ankle, my cartilage is wearing out and my tendons are inflamed. I worry about becoming dependent on painkillers; Mary, the dope fiend. It's asinine behaviour, really. Just old injuries acting up. Rest is all you need, he said. Eternal rest, I think. But yes, I exaggerate. The tendons hurt less, maybe they're mending.
I miss taekwondo.
7:30:00 pm
