You know, I love my dad. I really do.

It's just that sometimes I hate his guts, too.

For instance:

A few minutes before six, for next to no explainable reason, I walked into Grubbs Hall. This is the English / Foreign Language / Communications & Theatre building.

(Yes, dammit, I was looking for "the green room" despite the fact that there isn't an official one here. Yes, PSU sucks.)

I was sorta looking around in the lobby, and noticed a theatre bulletin board. Turns out that tryouts for the first play of the year are tomorrow and Wednesday.

This is the first I'd heard of it. If I hadn't happened to've walked into the building and looked around, I wouldn't've known and I would've completely missed it.

And that got me to thinking. I've got three art classes. Two of them seem nifty and useful. The other one, not so much so.

Dammitall, I don't want to take Ceramics again. I've done it two or three times and now I want to do something different.

And I want to take a theatre class.

I don't have any.

I don't have any classes in the building at all. (Hence, if I hadn't walked in, I wouldn't've known.)

And for that matter, what the hell am I doing being an art major? I didn't want to be an art major. I wanted to take lots of jewelry classes and metalsmithing classes so I could make niftyshit for the SCA.

So, being all confuzzled and stuff, and nobody being around to talk to, I called home. That's what you're supposed to do, right?

I wanted to talk to Mom. She wasn't home. So I talked to Daddy.

I don't know if the first and larger part of the conversation was helpful or not.

I know that the last few minutes certainly were not.

See, the conversation had shifted to how I was gonna try to get a job working at KRPS, the local NPR radio station. And I think I have a passably decent shot at it; I've actually done radio work before. (Thanks Mrs Shepard! Hmm... I should ask Daniel to thank her, especially if I actually get the job...)

But Daddy didn't think they'd hire me. After all, I don't have much experience. And, you know, they're a really serious radio station...

I knew this. I told him that. He mocked how I said it.

I could've punched him if he'd been here. He's my father, dammit! He's raised me for almost seventeen years and here I am at college at age sixteen, just like what happened to him, and he's supposed to be supportive and help me figure out what I want to do, not mock me for saying "I know" instead of listening to him belittle the odds of me getting a really cool job!

I'm sitting here with tears of frustration just about pouring down my cheeks right now.

I could've just punched him...

So now it's 6:42 (at least that's kinda cool) and I really do need to go to the library, because I'm supposed to go do research so that I can make somebody else's art, apparently.

Why? I don't know. I guess that helps people sometimes.

Personally, I know what I want to make, and so having somebody tell me I don't rather pisses me off.

John-Boy? Fenton? Lizabet? Heather? Becca?

Would one of you come visit me right now and give me a really long hug? I need it. And I don't know anybody here well enough yet to explain this.

*goes off to cry into her pillow for a little while and then go to the library*