pudding

i don't know what kind of funk he is in. he's been in a crappy mood for a couple weeks now, it seems like we don't go a single without fighting at least once. blah. i wish he would sit down and talk to someone, even if it isn't me. i honestly think that sometimes he just misses being "mr. popular" and by that i mean knowing that his friends want to hang out all the god damn time but having the option to decline the invite. but i'm not going to say that, it will only piss him off and we will have a wonderful argument about how i am anti-social and because i'm not happy i don't want anyone to be happy. whatever. fuck it. but i'm not going to get stuck with the short end of the stick when it comes to his bad mood, i deal with my bad moods enough for two people thanks. it's terrible when you get two moody ass people in a house together and they just brood and stare at one another. and i'm a neurotic little fucker to boot. sigh. too much crap. and then we had this wonderful little discussion today about my chosen "look." i get the point, i guess, but it doesn't mean i don't roll my eyes at it anyway. and it sure as hell doesn't mean i'm going to change it, at least not until i feel like it and it seems that the more people say anything about it the less inclined i feel to change, imagine that. stubborn fucker. i feel belligerent. and i'm hungry, but he doesn't want to go with me to get food and i don't particularly want to go out by myself. so it looks like dinner isn't going to happen. i know, i could go by myself, but i don't care to. i'd rather starve than go alone, it's weird, sometimes i get like that. and it's not like not eating hurts anyone but me. it just aggravates me and makes me easier to piss off. and maybe that is his punishment for not wanting to go, a wonderfully pissed off me to deal with. and now he does. i said i wouldn't say another word about going to school until i knew what was going on. no i do know. i was right the first time. the dream is dead. fuck this place, i just want to go home and be normal again. i'll take the shit out of my face, i'll re-dye my hair, i'll cover up my tattoos and go get a fucking "real" job. it seems like that is what it's going to take to make this dumb bastard happy. and if that's what he fucking wants he can have it. but i won't give him the pleasure of my company afterward. hell no. i will be an empty shell of a person and he can live with that. if he can. fuck it, i want to go home. good for me, i get to be part of the machine again. lucky me. this is going to kill me. i know it.