Mum found blood on my pillow, then checked the back of my head and saw the scab from where I'd been scratching. She thinks its infected and is taking me to the doctors later today. She also wants to sit on my next session because she thinks its not doing any good. Faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here's what I don't understand:

I go to my counseling appointment. The whole room stinks of pipe smoke. It's coming from his body, from each breath, he's walking emphasima. The man is grey. His skin looks terrible, he's kind've sweaty and nervous. I've been four times now and he's always wearing the same clothes. He uses the word wary when he should be saying weary and jumbles up his pop culture. Today, I guess he was trying to appear 'hip' or 'down' with youth culture and he started talking about my 'emo' music and how it can suck a lot of kids in. That the bands are really just cashing in on teenagers pain and angst, that they're not really suffering like they appear to be in the video clips. Well thanks for your helpful advice Grandpa. Firstly if I liked emo music I WOULD off myself and secondly isn't that like the entire history of music right there? I'm not sure what set this off. I was too angry to ask, I just sat there seething, thinking about the face he must make when he takes a shit and how satisfied he must be with himself afterwards. I also wondered if his penis had lost its bulk like the guy at the end of the street. I decided it probably had.

I don't know why I purposely gross myself out like this. But seriously, this is the person that people think is going to help me?

So I'm on the train saturday night around 12.30, it's pretty packed, everyone coming home. I hear these skaters hanging shit on an Indian guy. I can't hear exactly what they're saying but I can tell they're mocking him. He seems pissed. There's this girl with red hair and her guy sitting next to me. She's angry, telling him that he's an alcoholic. He's pissed, arguing, telling her that he's not. 'What would you call someone who falls asleep waiting for a train, someone who throws up in bed, someone who tried to strangle me the other night.' He gets up pissed off and sits with the skaters. She puts her ipod head phones in. Suddenly this hot guy gets on the train, he knows the skate kids. The Indian guy tells him to sit down next to him, he says no way, you've chucked on yourself, everyone laughs. Suddenly I smell the vomit in the train. One of the skaters rolls up the leg of his shorts. He has a tattoo of a syringe and the word candy along it. The Indian guy laughs, and leans over and begins vomiting. I can hear the thud of it hitting the floor. I start to dry wretch. Suddenly it's really hot. The station is taking forever. I can taste it in my mouth and all I can hear is laughter. I get off at the next station (2 stops early) and walk the rest of the way.

I've been thinking all morning about what my mum said, and now I’m totally pissed off. My counsellor tells me not to ‘ruminate,’ but he can shove his ‘ruminate’ up his fat cord wearing pipe smoking ass. Who would say that to their own kid? Jealous much? It’s because she knows I’ve got better hair than hers (and a better ass), that she’s old and no guy wants to fuck her anymore. Seriously no one’s had a hairstyle like that since the 80’s, all teased and puffed, she looks like a poodle crawled up onto her head and died. Mothers are not meant to be jealous of their kids. It's fucked. When she left for work today I took Brain Drain to the good stereo, cranked it up til the walls were vibrating. It didn’t really help much, but it was a good work out. Even now I can feel it in my calves and thighs, a bit of stiffness when I bend over. Luckily there’s no one I need to bend over for at the moment. But that's really nothing to be bragging about.

I’ve decided I’m not going to take her shit anymore. Next time she tries it I’m just going to let her have it. Both barrels. Then we'll see what's what.

just before I left today I poured some liquid paper into her oil of ulan.

My mother says I look like one of the check-out chicks at Coles. But the way she says it I get a feeling she just wants me to get a job as a check-out chick at Coles more than anything else. I mean, I've been to Coles stacks of times. I go there and buy smokes every other day and if I look like any of those poor fuck-faced bitches then mum mustn't love me much. If I ever give birth to a girl I won't tell her she looks like one of an assortment of ugly bitches who all work together in the one miserable shit place.
I want to go down there now just to see if I'm wrong. I hate feeling like that. I remember a morning in summer when I felt something invisible and evil just happy that I was wrong. I was so scared. I just ate all day until I was sick and my eyes were stinging from playstation.
My head is still itchy. I know a girl, (Hannah), she had lice really badly. She got into lots of trouble and just forgot to do anything other than fuck boys. And get lice. I haven't got lice. I barely fuck boys.
I'm going to have a shower and wash my hair anyway.