Memoirs of the Angst-Bitch

I don't care if I'm over-reacting, I go through hell for that boy. I fix his games, I help him with his projects, I let him sit in my room for up to 10 hours playing that infernal online game. I don't even yank away the headphones like I swear I'm going to do. And that little bastard can't even press one damn button. He doesn't even have to watch the damn show. He just has to remember at 5 p.m. to push a friggin' button! Why is that so hard? Because he's a selfish prick, who will never care about anyone but himself.

This is not going to work. He's about as reliable as my Internet connection. I'm going to have to find me some later showings and work out a pattern. I might have to buy a VCR with a timer. I don't get it. My father can do it, Tom can do it...even William can do it. But not this moron.

He's done with my room for the week!

I have more important stuff to go on about when I'm calm again.