PROFILE ![]() My name's Prissy. My world comes together with rainbows and everlasting sunshine. Billy's my white horse and Friends are my company. Pink is not my thing because I've got too many sweets in my life. |
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Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Home is where I'm not I hate crying over domestic matters. Getting home, with a black face, after a long day at work, doesn mean whatever that happened is my fault. Doesn't mean that me keeping quiet means I acknowledge whatever was being said. Just slamming my lunchbox on the table doesn mean he gets the right to throw and spoil my lunchbox. Doesn work that she can assume that I fucked up my papers that's why I'm in a bad mood. I'm tired yknow. They say their work is tiring and I should help out with chores, but ain't my attachment as tiring? Is money the differentiating factor? I'm not allowed to throw my temper at home, but they can? All bullshit. My brother speaks first and everything he says is correct? All bullshit. I merely wanted to get home to bathe and take a rest, and I had to be forced to wait for transport home. And look who threw his tantrum first by threatening to slap me first. Hey brother, you being a guy doesn give you all the right to threaten me that way. And I swear, my mood just dipped further when I heard my mum say that I must have fucked up my papers. Seriously, is results everything? It's all because of them that I've become so results-orientated that I no longer enjoy the process of studying until these years, which I've lost again. Really, what is enough for them. Why as a daughter, I never feel good enough for them. Everytime I try my best, isn enough. Can someone tell me? What is ever enough for them? 1:39 AM
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