Finished, and started

I finished the dishcloth and started another one, with the same colour yarn, same needles and same pattern. I think I'm going to use up a partial economy skein of Bernat Handicrafter and just make dishcloths to my heart's content. After all, it keeps me from going crazy.

So lately I've been addicted to Kristin Chenoweth's rendition of 'Hopelessly Devoted To You', from the first season of Pushing Daisies...



I prefer it over Olivia Newton John.

So it's eleven days 'til Easter Sunday, and I've got this feeling of impending doom. But then again, I feel that way about most holidays. At least now I'm no longer at a young and impressionable age, which means I can be snarky if I like. I like that.

At least some people I like will be there for Easter dinner. It's going to be at Uncle Brent's, so Justin and Breanne should be there. Plus, Glen (my mom's cousin) and Maxine (his wife) are coming, from what I heard via eavesdropping (hehe...). I haven't seen them in a while, so it'll be nice to see them. And it'll be nice for Grandma.

As for the rest of my extended family, I honestly couldn't care less. Uncle Brent, while I like him, can be very Jekyll and Hyde at times. Grandpa is a jerk, period. Aunt Patti didn't put my name on our Christmas card, just my mom's name, my dad's name, and 'and family', while my brother and sister got their own cards - if she addresses me by my name, I plan on saying, "Wait, what did you call me? I thought my name was And Family - after all, that's what you put on the Christmas card." Petty? Perhaps, but it's about time I stopped letting myself be a verbal doormat with my relatives.

Yesterday I took a practice test thing in my GED books on run-on sentences and sentence fragments, and I got every question right. I was utterly gobsmacked.

"Good times, bad times, you know I've had my share..."

Here's my rant of the day. Brace yourselves, my friends.

First of all, my dad is irritating me beyond belief. He didn't want me to go on the computer today, but I thought he was joking so I turned the computer on to download my photos. He went into a fit over it, I retaliated, and all hell broke loose. He has it in his head that I act like the computer's mine. I'll admit that I overreact, but he does, too. So my strategy is to go on the computer when he's either: a) working or b) sleeping. When he's home and awake, I'll ask him in a civil tone. Which I already do.

And now, for the other half.

I hate my grandfather. My grandmother is getting better about not excluding people, but my grandfather is another story. He doesn't make an effort to get to know me, my brother, and my two favourite cousins, and neither does my grandmother. Just because we're a little different. One of my least favourite cousins, however, is in my good books. I actually didn't mind being around him. He seemed to be genuinely kind to people, which is fantastic. But my grandparents never tried to get to know us different folk, and it really annoys me to no end. My least favourite aunt is the same way.

It never really occurred to me that my grandparents treat me like a kid until my mom brought it up once. It makes sense. They don't take me seriously. They don't take my brother seriously, and they don't take my favourite cousins seriously.

Because we're different.

What's so fabulous about being normal, anyway? What makes them so bloody special?!