I feel really fucked tonight, and I don’t want to use voice-rec. He could hear me. What a motherfucker. I blame him for my problems and he blames me. What a shithead.

He is one of those people that would be greatly improved by death.

The shitty thing is, there’s no way to get revenge for all those years of insults and neglect. I could burn the house down, but he would just get a nifty insurance premium and I’d go to jail. I want to make it so that he dies penniless and surrounded by strangers, but I would have to resurrect Alexandre Dumas to concoct such a scheme.

Not to mention the whole “I don’t give a shit about him” angle.

I was having what was shaping up to be a wonderful day. It started In the morning at the plant, me fixing the Internet and using some Acrobat magic to save this damaged PDF…but it was all to no avail.

You know what I think it is? My dad wants to see me fail. He can’t accept that I’m more intelligent and more responsible than he ever was at my age. He’s trying to prove himself right that I’m a fuck-up, but I’m not going to let him.

I salivate at the thought of being able to put him into a retirement home. I also laugh evilly at the notion. Mouhahahaha!

Well yeah, after that I went to my other job. Matt and I went out to lunch and he told me all about this sweet camping trip. When I get my car back I have to take him up on his offer of a camping escapade.

I realized today why I like being at work better than being at home.

At work, I’m rewarded (albeit sparingly) for my hard work and dedication, respected for my knowledge of computers, and penalized only for my mistakes.

At home, I’m endlessly threatened with getting kicked out of my childhood home, and am usually regarded as a nuisance. My achievements are constantly marginalized by someone with a high school education who rarely worked to support his family and who only has such wealth because he secreted thousands away his mother during the divorce.

Which one would you choose?

Tomorrow I’m bringing a sleeping bag and moving into the conference room.

My dad and I had another fight on the way home from my Cinema class.

He doesn’t appreciate any of my accomplishments or responsibilities.

He just yells at me.

No matter what I fucking do.

There is no making him happy.

He’s a fucking malcontent.

He’s fucking done it all my life.

No wonder I’m such a cynical motherfucker.

I’m going to bed.

Seriously, I’m throwing a party when he dies.

I wish I could burn Crescent City down to the ground and contaminate it with nuclear waste so no one could ever live here again.

This place is shit.

Everyone who lives here are shit.

I’ve got to get out.

Please save me.

“There’s a keyboard shortcut for it, but it requires to you to use all your fingers at once.”

– Me, to one of my coworkers today

It’s 8 a.m. and I’m here at the plant. I just finished with the first job of the day and it usually takes a while for them to send the next job, so until then I get to surf Google Earth and look at satellite views of my friends’ houses because I’m a wierdo and I miss them.

Getting up early isn’t so tough when you’ve slept in the day before. I’d also downloaded some amped up Mylo remixes, so I have enough electronica to keep the neurons moving. My wrists are still killing me from writing that paper, so I guess I should stop writing and go read some more tech blogs.