Gabriel gnawed on and poked my arm through most of lunch. I think that's his way of saying "visit more often". Or perhaps, "your shirt looks tasty". Or "I like pie". The jury's still out.
Poor Mom/Nicole/Emma. I went off in search of the CSI Season 3 DVD thingy, and every place I tried was either closed, or lacking in CSIgoodness. They love the show (Nicole got that scary look in her eyes when Mom said she thought it might be out today).
My dad wants me to move back to Houston. He says I'm not getting the proper medical care, seeing as how my PCOS crap isn't getting any better. Says I should transfer to U of H. This is not the first time my parents have mentioned the possibility of me coming back here (my mother is particularly fond of threatening me with it when she feels my apartment is not clean enough). Always before, it's just sent me into a panic. I don't want to move back 'home'. It's not home anymore. My apartment isn't either, but it's closer than this. Part of it was that moving back has, until now, always been a threat - if my grades aren't good enough, if my apartment isn't clean enough, if I don't lose enough weight - and I have reacted accordingly.
But this time, I just don't give a shit. I do like Houston better as a city than San Antonio. I don't have anything tying me to SA except a friendship with neron, which is sort of wilting because we just don't talk anymore. Not sure why. But I'm sick of wasting my parent's money. I'm sick of taking up space. I have been for a long time.
*Or, y'know, Dad did something. Could be.