That seems to be my new phrase. I just keep saying it for some reason.
Well, last night Chelsea called at like 1:30. She was screaming like a banshee that her roommate "beat the @!*$ out of her" and so of course my mom goes and gets her from her neighbor's house. I heard that and I thought that she was like in serious trouble, so I'm totally freaked out. She gets home, and she's fine enough that at first glance you couldn't even tell she's injured. All that's wrong is that she's got a few bruises and her shoulder hurts. Go freakin' figure.
Now this means that my mom broke like glass and Chelsea is living with us now. And apparently, I'm not allowed to be upset, even though I'm the one who went to her in tears last weekend begging her not to do this.
I'm the good kid, and yet my feelings are never considered. Ever.
Chelsea's the bad one, she gets hundreds of chances, and yet I'm the good kid and I get one.
THIS IS SO UNFAIR. I thought that starting this weekend I was FINALLY going to get to relax. WRONG. Apparently, I'm not going to get to remotely relax until I leave for college.
It's just not fair. I deserve to have these three months go well. Things are never well when Chelsea's around. And yet it seems that I'm the only one who's not stupid enough to believe that this time is going to be different than any of the other hellacious times that my mom let her stay and then quickly regretted it.