If you noticed that I'd been gone for the last few days I was at the beach. Was supposed to be there for a week, Sunday to Sunday, but my brother was going back today so I decided to go with him. I hate the beach, and I went in the pool a grand total of three times. I literally touched the water's edge at the beach, and had a blowup fight with my mum over the fact that I wouldn't go in the sun. At all.
Plus the fact that all my family are alcoholics.
It so very sucks when you have such a surface relationship with your parents that you can't even tell them that you have a moral code that doesn't want you to drink or smoke. I was ordered three sprizters before they got the message.
Will update later on my theories of the hatred of the beach and why I really came home.
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