I went home because my car needed its MOT. I went and had that done, nearly waltzed around the garage yard in happiness when informed my ancient little motor was fit for another year of me zooming around in it. It was less great when my stepdad who came with me, in front of an entire garageful of men, asked "Is that a bruise on your chin?" and I had to inform him that no, no it was not - just a delightful outbreak of acne. Yay.

Every second I spent *outside* the house this weekend was good. When it wasn't raining I went for bike rides - a long one yesterday and today - as well as spending last night round Tori's and going round town today and purchasing tat.

My mum and stepdad haven't been speaking to each other for SIX FREAKING WEEKS. Consequently, as I was home, I had each of them at separate points bitching the hell out of each other at me. I actually felt like the adult of the household, ordering each of them to speak to each other about their problems. But they won't and now I feel like I don't ever want to go home again because that kind of atmosphere is so utterly depressing. What's even more dire is that the situation with my real dad is even worse and I haven't spoken to him in more than three months, so presently, other than my older brother, I have no immediate family I want to spend time with in the near future.

I didn't mean this to be an angsty rant but then again it is my diary...

Stuart's also in my bad books as he was meant to be coming round to see me this evening but is "too tired". I wouldn't mind so much but he's not even working tomorrow and the fickle and uncontrollable nature of my emotions means my feelings are backtracking. Concerning.

Apparently, THE GOOD TIMES ARE OUT THERE.

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