Em has informed me that you can't actually lose anything on imood, which leads me through a complicated maze of conclusions that she, indeed, checked my blog page. Way to go Emily.

I haven't so much as wiped the sleepies from my eyes and I'm already updating this damned thing. This is how desperate I am to convey my essence to the (comparitively small) masses. I am, yes, that's right, a pathetic loser.

I miss Mr. Leighton, it would seem. Almost enough to want to be back in school. But what I really want, more than anything, I think, is for my brand-spankin'-new poetry teacher next year to be a guy. Who is impressed by my well of poetic knowledge.

What's that, freud? You think Linda is hunting for a new father figure? Nonsense! I only do that, oh, every time I leave the house.

My sister and I have made a pact to combine our efforts to either salvage our relationship with our father or, at the very least, yell at him until he understands some tiny bit of what he's done to us. Next time one of us gets into a fight with him we're going to tag team him. We stayed up till 4 am one night a couple weeks ago talking about it...about everything. I read to her this song that I wrote about him...just the lyrics, I was going to send it to maggie (em's cousin) to write the music, misc. But I really need to polish it, it's still first draft-y.

Heh, I checked the definition of polish to make sure I didn't get the spelling mixed up with "the state of being a Pole....or whoever the fuck you spell one who is from poland." and it's technical definition, or the first couple words of the technical definition, was "to make smooth and shiny."
That amuses me.

My mom is downstairs very loudly telling an obscenely unamusing story about being afraid of a sound in a forest, and laughing as she does it. My mom laughs at really dumb things.

Okay, I have to work in less than two hours, so I'm gonna go now.

My name is Linda and I have a screwed-up family. On with it!