Now that I've scraped together enough money to pay my speeding ticket, I finally told Dad about it this afternoon. He was not happy. Sometimes I wonder if my hatred of imperfection and failure was at all fostered by the wrath he turns on me whenever I do something wrong or mess something up. See, this is why I never want to be a parent-- the thought of being responcible for someone's welfare and their psychological trauma just doesn't appeal to me.

Random silliness: