Complaining Follows:

I would like to take this opportunity to complain profusely about every single little thing until either: A.) I feel better, B.) I run out of things to say, C.) My fingers start hurting, or D.) I run out of time.

So, last night was the catalyst for this rant. I came home to find a package with someone Else's name and our address on it. When I mentioned this to my dad, he informed me that it was indeed our package; it contained the modem for the new Internet service. The reason the name on it was different was because my dad MADE UP a name and social security number for the phone bill. I get extremely upset for obvious reasons and he said he had a bill in his name, did I want to have Internet or not? Oh, so somehow that's a good reason to engage in illegal activities.

Next, my brother left a box of items on the front porch unattended and they were stolen. My mother says it was probably one of her friends, because, you know, they are just that kind of people. Chris is angry because he feels he should be able to leave valuable things out in the open on his own front porch, its not like we have ever been robbed before. Oh, but wait, we have been robbed before. Several times. (By my moms "friends"?) One can only blame other people for so much.

Then, my brother, who is currently under suspension and does not have legal license plates or car insurance, wanted to drive to his friends house so that he would have a ride home in the morning. My mother agreed with him, my father did not. Commence argument.

I really don't know where to begin. One day, yes, one day not too far away, I will live in my own house with my own rules and no illegal activity. One day, I won't have to worry about random services being shut off for non-payment. One day, I won't have to worry about what questionable people will be entering my home. One day, I won't have to wonder which one of the people I live with are addicted to what substance. Once day, I won't have to worry about who may or may not be arrested or have court appearances. But until that day. . .

I know that I am not responsible for, nor do I have any control over any of these things. I shouldn't worry about them. I shouldn't get upset. But I cannot help but want to live in a safe, stable, and secure environment where my parents are positive role models. I know, how ridiculous. One can dream.