Name one good thing a minute's ever done. They shorten fun and measure misery.

That's definitely true. And yet, my strange obsession with time carries on. I'm always thinking about how many minutes, hours, days whatever. How many hours of sleep I can get, how many minutes I've spent staring mindlessly into space, how many days until the next exciting event happens. Which all comes back to my previous post about waiting. But I've certainly spent enough time waiting, thinking about waiting, and writing about waiting. I don't need to do any more of that here. Not now at least.
Instead, I will, in typical journal format, recount the happenings of my day.
I spent the better part of it with Rachel and Wanda, shopping in Okotoks. They both got groceries and Christmas gifts, neither of which I have any need for. (That's right folks, I'm DONE my Christmas shopping/crafting. Kind of)
What did I get? A pair of cheap overalls. Apparently I am the only person left on the planet who thinks that overalls are still cool, but whatever. They're comfy, and I think they're plenty cute.
Post shopping, we drove back to the Diamond, picked up Wanda's family, and headed to the valley for dinner. Come home, read a bit (am I a bad person for reading the book I bought my sister for Christmas? I hope not...), play some music, and talk on the internets. And now, I'm here.
Where is here exactly? The seat of my creative genius of course. Also known as our basement floor. And though I've had a good day, I can't help but feel mildly annoyed about certain things. Things which I know are trivial and meaningless, things which shouldn't bother me so much, and in the grand scheme of things will not make one iota of difference. But things that are still annoying me in ways I cannot begin to describe.
Thing the first. WebAdvisor. WebAdvisor is the University of Guelph's method of communicating to students the amount of money they owe, the classes they are registered in, and the grades they have recieved. It is also a colossal piece of crap. My grades were supposed to come out the 21st, and still, I haven't seen them. I cannot even log in to WebAdvisor. And the thing about this that really angers me is that the university keeps sending me emails reminding me how much money I owe them for next semester. But they cannot be bothered to send me one regarding my grades. I'm paying thousands of dollars out the nose (or some other body part - be creative), and I can't even see my grades.
Oh, wait. Upon writing this, I thought I'd check one more time. I can get in now, but apparently I'm under academic restriction for not paying my phone bill. That's funny. I have a RECIEPT from paying said phone bill. Do I pay them another sixty three dollars and argue later? Or wait, and hope my payment goes through.
I give up.
Thing the second: My mother. Are you surprised that this one is here? No, I didn't think so. Admittedly, posting about family issues on a public forum may not seem like a good idea. However, as a disclaimer, I would like to inform you (who exactly?) that these opinions are in fact very public, and well known by all involved parties.
About a month ago, my mother bought a truck. A brand new truck. She traded in the car that my dad had saved earnestly for, the car that HE chose and HE liked, and got what is the biggest, most environmentally unfriendly, ugliest piece of shit excuse for a vehicle that I have ever seen.
I kid you not. Typically, I'm not an angry person (although I find that being here makes me feel angry, and a little more than a touch hostile. A feeling which I hate experiencing, and can't wait to leave behind), but everytime I see this thing, I have the strange desire to key it, to destroy it in any way that I can. I don't think that it's the truck itself that I hate. Rather, it's everything that it represents. My father's willingness to do whatever my mother wants, and the fact that my mother takes advantage of this every chance that she gets. The fact that she is so completely wrapped up in "being country" (do not even ask what that means, I haven't the slightest. As far as I can tell, it means decorating our house with tacky signs, and acting like an uneducated hick) that she has no problem running my family into debt to do so. And the fact that all of this: her fakeness, her idea that she deserves to be completely spoiled, and her total ignorance to all that is happening around her is simply tolerated. I'm told not to say anything about it, to cut her some slack. But I'm at the point where there is nothing left to cut from, where it becomes exhausting to act as fake as her and say it doesn't bother me. I've got nothing but the absolute raw truth left, and no matter who's on the recieving end of that one, it's going to hurt.