My dad’s been a dick lately. I got a part-time job at the Blockbuster to shut him up. He likes drinking, which I don’t care, it’s just he doesn’t like hearing me say he’s drunk. I don’t understand him and he doesn’t understand when I try telling him I don’t understand why he doesn’t understand I have anxiety. Actually, I rarely leave the house anymore. I read somewhere the frontal lobe doesn’t stop developing until you’re twenty-five. Well, what happens after that? Am I gonna be the same person when that happens? It feels like I’ve been doing this for so long, but I know that’s just me and how time feels. When it gets dark, he backs off and I stay up late. Really late, around 2AM I can hear the crickets and it’s really peaceful outside. The sun rises around 7AM here during fall, so I get a lot of quiet time. I’m sorry if including “that scene” in chapter 53 bothered anyone. It’s been a fantasy of mine for a while, but I never considered how others would react to it...oh well. My pillow finally got too dirty. It’s gross. Dad asked for money but spent too much again, so I got mad and showed him the pillow. He was grossed out, but didn’t care about it. We haven’t spoken much since I started hormones. Just passing conversation. I guess he’s right keeping distance. I’ve changed.