Last Night.

I'm at the hotel right now, using Sam's MBP (with the trackpad and keyboard I HATE so much because it's not the huge honkin' American keyboard since apparently people who live here can't type) and I'm upset. I don't want to live through tomorrow, I don't want to have Sam leave me again. I've got the feeling that Dad's going to pull an ambush or something. What baffles me is that no, it's not ok to have Sam go to the restaurant with them for supper tonight and throw a mini shitfit ; yet it's perfectly fine to give Sam a steak dinner tomorrow at the house, with his blessing? What the christ?

I'm baffled, at this point. I really am. I don't have a clue why Dad's being so hot and cold. He bitches about me being so angry all the time; I wish he could take a look at his attitude sometimes. I shouldn't be so afraid to talk to my father like he's my father, I feel like I have to talk to him like I'm some sort of a defense lawyer/he's the world's harshest judge and I'm on trial for everything: my beliefs (religious, political and otherwise), the fact that I love Sam, the fact that I don't have the right to go to the UK without an "escort" of either Lindsay or my brother [but yet if it's Lindsay, it's fine to leave her in London for however long; in a city where she knows no one]. Even mum's upset about this, being caught in the middle; she's been alternatively wishing for divorce and threatening to leave Dad in the shit for 3 weeks to teach him a lesson. I told her if she does that to take me with her. I'm tired of this. I shouldn't be wishing I was born into a different family; I shouldn't be afraid to talk to my bloody dad; I shouldn't be feeling like a 60 year woman, beaten down by life, at the end of her rope, who feels her life is a mistake.

When Sam leaves, my immediate plan is to fix up my resume and send it in to a few newspapers and magazines, start looking for cars (hopefully I can get a decent car for a really cheap price) and start writing a novel. I've had the idea floating in my head for a couple days; no time like the present to write something. If I can get it published, I'd be happy.