Hate My Way

Another horrid day. Time crawled. Lunch went frame by frame, and I was stuck watching Duncan have lunch with some red guy (who looked a bit like the drama club's new soundman) and a girl with a propeller stuck on the back of her head. Drama itself was the usual: do the end of the play first before Macbeth has to leave, then rush through Act I. I have plenty of time to practise sleepwalking as a result. My parents aren't going to Florida after all, but I still won't go with them. They're going to Washington. As my mother said to my father over the roadmaps, "That dentist down the hall from me does this sort of thing all the time: he books one week trips with his wife, then extends them for a week, maybe two, longer." At least my parents are only driving south and can pretty much stop wherever they want. Charles Wallace should be happy about going to DC, since he wants to see the FBI building.