Alright. So the monkey thing didn’t go totally as planned.

In fact it didn’t actually go. Because right now I’m holed up in my room for two weeks (minus school and basketball training) because apparently I’ve done something wrong. Apparently using your mother’s credit card to buy a monkey off eBay is something akin to stealing. And apparently I have issues.

Talk about over reacting. Parents suck.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? My bedroom is void of anything interesting, my house is void of anything interesting and my imagination just ran away with a spoon.

“You’re a loser, Rebecca.”

“Fall down a well, Ria.”

“If it means getting away from you.”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Have I mentioned I have a sister? She’s retarded, but my parents don’t believe me. I hate her with a passion; in fact I’ve even gone to lengths of trying to prove she is mentally deranged. They never worked though.

…

Ugh. Monkeys aren’t that expensive, so what the hell is their problem?

Maria stared at me in all her stupid ‘teeny-bopper’ glory.

“What are you staring at, banana-brain?”

“Don’t call me that.” Her comebacks suck.

“Call you what, dear, perfect sister of mine?”

“No wonder mum is sending you to a therapist,” she said snidely, walking away from my room of doom. Yeah I came up with that title myself; I even have it plastered on my door.

… Hold on. Did she just say therapist? As in someone who will listen to me? Someone I can con into buying a monkey for me…?

Excellent.

Things might just go after all.

I think I might name him Eugene. Or Edward. I like ‘E’ names.