Sunday, November 24, 2002

Rory surprised us all by coming home from Michigan yesterday. He beat me at Monopoly, the bastard! I’m so going to Monopoly Camp so I can kick his ass!

My father’s getting on my nerves. This seems to be a Sunday theme. Sunday is apparently his most annoying day. I woke up and came out, first, to see him smoking in the chair. My mom is trying to quit smoking, because if she doesn’t, she’ll die, or so the doctors tell us. So we no longer allow smoking in the house. But he was smoking the other night when a friend of mine was here. He did it because he knew I wouldn’t chew him out in front of people. And today he did it because I was sleeping and he didn’t think he’d get caught.

I swear to God if I come out to see him smoking in the house again, I’m going to bust his head open. I’m not a violent person. But what he’s doing is actually killing my mother. The reason she hasn’t managed to quit smoking yet is that my dad always gives her cigarettes. We’ll throw out all of hers so she can’t get to them anymore, and suddenly she’ll have the urge to go on long car trips with dad. The second they’re out of the driveway, they’re smoking again.

I realize parents are only just people. But my parents’ smoking has always bothered me. It’s such a dirty, nasty habit. They spend exorbitant amounts of money on cigarettes; I’m talking triple figures monthly. In exchange for all that money, they gain a health risk for themselves and those around them. They’re probably the reason I get such bad bronchitis every winter, and possibly their smoking is the cause of my asthma as well. It certainly aggravates my mother’s transplanted kidney. It sure as hell doesn’t help her COPD.

If I end up in the hospital when I’m older, dying of some fatal lung disease, I’m so throwing out my parents’ photographs. And maybe I’ll burn them too. Buggers.