Yea, it sucked. I woke up for the 5th day in a row with the worst cough this side of the goddamn planet. It was slow to start up, but when it did, oh boy, you could hear it a few houses away. And it's still going.
So, I lay in bed, chuckling and coughing to myself at the fact that other people would be going to school. Suckers. And since the exams are over, there's nothing usefull to be done. So apart from the coughing, My situation is fine.

Untill the second alarm goes. My alarm goes at 6:35, playing whatever CD happens to be in my clock/radio at the time. This month it's a Jethro Tull CD, Heavy Horses. It's not a bad wakeup, since it takes about 15 minutes to wake me up, and another 10 to get me motivated enough to turn it off and get up. Before, I had a buzzer, but I just turned that off and went back to sleep. But today, so far, so good.

Then my fathers alarm goes. It's a buzzer, and a shrill reminder that other people exist, and that many of them strive to make my life suck. Fortunately, most of them are not in the house, or they would ridicule me for wearing maroon underwear.
Anyways, when that alarm goes, it sets off a minature adrenaline wakeup, which usually wakes me up fully, If i'm not already, or makes me huddle down and shiver at the prospect of another day. That's what happens today, since I don't have to organise my siser, cause I'm ill. So far, so good.

I start to finish one of the many books I am in possesion of. It's called DarkSong, the second in a trilogy called the LedgendSong. It's a drama/slight romance, not usually my type of book, but it's surprisingly original. It gives me plenty of material to pirate into my own books.
Whoo, the morning is good. By now, Dad's in the shower.

Then at 7: 20, when I am usually getting my act and school stuff together, ANOTHER fraking alarm goes off. It's my mother's, and by extension, my sisters. See, my responsibilities usually include getting my sister up, making sure she puts the right uniform on, and nit-comb her hair, to prevent the bastards from taking the house by storm again. But since I;m ill, my mother does it.

Let me tell you about my mother. Just for the record. Just so you understand. In bullet points.

1: She has ATAXIA, which is a loss of fine motor function.
2: She used to be athletic, and cheerfull, and funny, and ride horses, ect.
3: When I was born, she was still mainly like that.
4: Now, she has frequent bursts of pissed offness, and it always totally unreasonable
5: This is partly due to the stress of not having the life she wished, so in consequence, she becomed a bitch. That drags on untill it has, after 6 or 7 years, an intergral but highly unpleasant part of her personality.
6: She must hate me, it's the only explenation for all the crap she puts me through. I'll whine about that in another post.

Oky Doky, now that you've read that, you might understand why it's a little annoying for everyone for her to do an incredibly simple task of getting an 8 year old ready for school in under an hour.
She wakes up, turns the alarm off, sometimes fiddles with the clock and changes it, screwing it up, complaining about it.
There is a door to her room. It bangs against her bedside table everytime she goes past, because she has to lean on it.
She uses my bathroom, (or the kids bathroom, me and my sister) despite having an ensuite, and somehow (not sure how, female urination is still largely a mystery to me, and I'm glad it is) sprays on the seat and refuses to wipe and blames it on me.

She wakes Isis up by cooing at her, and baby-talking to her about her being a 'little frauder' and how she needs to get up. This takes almost 15 minutes. Note: I can get her up by pulling the blankets back or by telling her tu get up in about 10 seconds.

Then she gets pisses off, and starts ordering Isis about. (Yes, my sister is called Isis) She yells at her and directs her to everything, despite the fact that she is 8. Hell, I was dressing myself by 4, and so was Isis when mother was not around, so it's not necesary.

Then she proceeds to yell all the way out the door and to school.

But when she and Dad have left for the office, my life is once again back on track, and i make my way to the kitchen for a sammich. OhmgtehkitchenisBAD!
The stove is caked it food debri, last nights stuff is all out, there's a garbage bin bag on the froor, half full of rubish, while the pedal bin overflows. The fridge is almost empty, the hams is out of date, the only lettuce we have is going brown (WTF?) and the margarine is ALL VIRGIN OIL CRAP!

But I perservere, and make myself a sammich, scraping the tiny bit's of mou;d off the bread that;s been left out for a week to long. Toast is out, since noone ever cleans the old toaster, it's covered in crap too. So is the bench. My Dear Mother has the ability to break everything, so nothing is clean since the dishwasher is fucked and she refuses to let anyone including herself wash up.

I make myself some tea (with sugar, I need it, I'm already feeling the pressure) and my sammich.

Now, tu dissuade you from the notion that we are poor:

I go to the best Non-Private school in the state and since we are not residents, we have to pay shitloads. (more about our 7 year delayed residency in the next chapter of my life)

I sit down with my tea in front of my 27 inch screen, with my wacom tablet and laser mouse (laser mouse sucks). We are not short on technology on my house. 42 inch TV (used for PS3), 2 more screens at 27 inches, 1 state of the art game and work computer, (Dads) and another old computer with a ball mouse anda 10 inch screen. (My sisters and mothers).

So, I take a bite of my sammich, and it is by the holy mother of god the morst sammich I HAVE EVER TASTED, and I've had some pretty crap stuff, and been to Vietnams, where NOTHING goes in a sandwich, and this is the worst.

My tea is fine though.

Then mother gets back and my life goes downhill as she blames me for everything, tries to sew and has me help her every fucking step of the way, and bitch at me some more, like it's my fault she has all the hand controll of a retarded crab on crack.

So then I go back and lie on by bed, (Queen size, takes up 1/2 of my room, it's awesome) and then realise I have to do my washing and ironing. Aww, fuck. And Being ill is supposed to be a skive, like compensation for having a fucked stomach or some shit like that.

But on the plus side, I only have to endure this for another.... 3 and 1/2 hours, then my mother leaves to collect my sister from school.

thanks for listening/reading/tolerating me for this long.