I wait for two hours every day after school to drive my sisters home. I am late for school at least three times a week because they can't get out the door. I help them with their home work. and I clean a lot. and I never get thanked for any of that. So yes, occasionally I am going to complain. and you know what? I thought that was okay. I thought my sisters would understand if I got irritated wasting so much of my time every day and not getting home until 4 when I get out of school at 2:15. But apparently not.

Apparently when I say that I hate how inconvenient it is to sit waiting for two hours what I really mean is that I hate my sisters and how dare they inconvenience me, the great and powerful ruler of the universe with their schooling. And apparently their lives suck and they want to kill themselves because I complain about how long I wait every once and a while.

And apparently nothing I do is good enough. and apparently I don't get to have feelings. Apparently I am just there to listen to their problems, and to clean up after them, and to give them rides, but I can't even need to go somewhere myself, or feel something myself, or want something to be mine and just mine because my clothes are theirs and my books are theirs and my computer, and pens, and notebooks, and pictures, and anything else that I thought was mine, is really theirs and I shouldn't complain when they get them dirty or ruin them or leave them lying around the house to get lost because I can't care because I'm not allowed to feel anything.

And apparently I am lazy because I don't have a job, but I can't go get a job because I don't get home until after four, and then I would have to drive to work and it makes it really hard to get a job when you can't work until five.

Glad to know where I stand with my family.