I woke up around 8:30. I would have slept a little (or much) later but Mom went to work, and I of course got stuck watching Ray. I went downstairs, drowsy and annoyed by the early sun. Going into the kitchen, I picked out the nearest and most convienent breakfast - poptarts. I sit down watching some infomercial I've watched about 86 times, I think it was about a food processor or something.

Ray starts bitching and screaming and wailing to paint Easter Eggs. I'm half-awake, extreamly tired and beyond hazed. I yell, "Geezus Ray, shut up!" ... *continues his rampage* ... "Ya know what? Go ahead, do the eggs, you're gonna screw them up anyways." Ray walks into the kitchen, and obviously doesn't read the directions. He messes them up, and I was too seriously tired to care. What I didn't know was he threw all the eggs out.

We get into this huge fight, and then eventually shut up. If you have younger (or older) siblings I'm sure you know what it's like to hear them carry on like idiots. Anyways, not even up for an hour, I hear Dad walking up the steps. I tell Ray, "What ever you do, DO NOT say ANYTHING about the eggs... " This was the most perfectly stupid idea because when you tell Ray something, he does the opposite.

Dad walks in and Ray says what he did to the eggs. He screams, and tells Ray to pick them out of the garbage and to put them back in the glass bowl. Crying, Ray goes down to do the task. Dad looks at me, and starts yelling that the house is so fucking messy that it needs to be clean. Note: the house is NEVER messy, ask anyone.

Anyways... Dad went downstairs, making me go with him, making sure I cleaned & vaccumed all downstairs. He screamed as I did this, letting me know the nine yards. The Nine Yards is what I call digging up past let-downs and disasters and just plain things to bitch about. He said things like my friends are my only priority, that he should have never had Ray and me, he shouldn't have gotten married, he could be down at the bar drinking his life away for all he cared, I'm a mistake, he thinks he shouldn't be around, I never do anything right... the same old same old. I still cry everytime he reminds me of this. You think since I've been hearing it for the past 15 years I'd be immune or something, but I'm not.

Dad saw what Ray did to the eggs. They lay in the glass bowl on top of the microwave. For some reason, one of them wasn't boiled all the way though, and it cracks in his hand. Dad yells: "Who the fuck made these?! They're not even hard boiled!!" ... I barley itched out: "Mom did...", and then I watched as he slammed the bowl to the floor, making pieces of glass spread and fly in all directions, putting nitches and scratches on my legs. I said nothing, and just started cleaning it up. I have a pretty little gash on my hand from trying to pick up a bigger chunk of the bowl, in between crying.

I washed my hand, with tears blurring my vison, and I purposely tried to blur my vison by squinting. I went in the bathroom hoping he wouldn't hear me. I stayed in the kitchen and cleaned more. Dad comes in and suddenly throws out the tea kettle, saying "Why the hell do I even need this either?!". I'm not sure why he did that, but he did. I sat and watched Ray for the last hour until he went off to work, and the rest of the day was pretty silent.

Afterwards, I took some sleeping pills to knock myself out. I slept for 3 hours, and Mom came home. I think my Dad's been working on the mental ward in the hospital way too long. It's rubbing off on him no doubt. *sigh* Sometimes I just hate it here...