I was in a good mood until I came home. No, that's not correct. I was in a good mood until I told her she could not borrow my car tomorrow. She is pissed now, of course. She just told me to come downstairs. I asked why, she said she wanted to talk to me. I refused to go. We spoke, me standing at the top of the stair, her somewhere just out of sight. She asked why she couldn't, I say I just filled my car up. She says what if she puts gas in it? I say she never does. Dad says he will fill my car up. I say I refuse to have this argument. I leave. I blog. She doesn't have a license or insurance. If she gets pulled over, my car gets towed away. I cannot afford the impound fees. They definitely cannot afford them. It is my car. I have the title in my name. I pay the insurance. I pay for the gas. I get the oil changed. I pay for the repairs. It is my car, my decision. I say no.
So, when I get up in the morning, she is going to be up and dressed. She is going to bustle around the house pretending I said yes. She will call people and tell them she will be over later. She will ask me what time I want to leave. She will pack my lunch. I will tell her no. She will first ask nicely. I will say no. She will ask why. I will tell her why. She will get mad, call me ungrateful. Say she never asks me for anything. Make up some reason about having to go see her mom. I will say no. She will get madder, start screaming at me. I will leave. She might follow, she might not. I will drive away.
I don't want to do that tomorrow. Sigh. I hate that routine. Maybe I should leave now. If I left now I would not have to argue with her. I would be gone. I could go to Joanies or Ashleys.
Im going to cry. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this.