cimorene

the family suite's waiting room is much noiser and more child-filled than the pediatric suite's--i think something is wrong, here. OTOH, the wait wasn't too horribly long. started on my last unopened book, sean stewart's galveston (a near-future, post-apocalpyse-kinda fantasy novel). the doctor's not really wholly incompetent, although it is quite likely she doesn't really know what to do with me, as lisa said. she listened to my breathing and my heart for some reason--and the latter in my back, chest, and throat. (>.>!)

oh, oh, anger. i hate my maternal grandparents. they abused my mother emotionally growing up, they're racist, they're stupid, and my grandfather is an anarchist neo-nazi. handy summary, there--anyway, last night mom was talking of trying to talk them into coming to stay with us, i presume in some sort of long term, because she 'needs help' and (sniff) isn't getting it from me (quickly, not that she blames me for being depressed!) and can't expect it from my twelve-year-old sister who, after all, has never had to clean up for herself, or make her own food, or shut up when other people are talking, BEFORE.

i hate them. HATE. HATE. and i'm so angry at my mother i could spit.

p.s. earlier, a car drove by playing project pat's 'chicken heads.' ahahahah!