Pathetic.

Who's pathetic? Me. I don't seem to have really clicked with my mates. They keep inviting me out for lunch, and somehow I have to refuse, saying that I'm going out with my parents or I didn't tell my parents. Pathetic isn't it? That's life, I suppose.

Went to buy the new furniture set, and frankly speaking, my dad HATES the new sofa set we bought. He bought because I made it looked like *I will not leave the shop unless you buy this blue sofa set!*. Okay, I admit I liked the blue sofa set since it was comfortable, but I did say *At the end of the day, you're paying for it. so if you like that sofa, buy it!*. He asked me to try the other sofa which VERY uncomfortable and VERY expensive, to see whether it was comfortable or not. I sat on it for a while since they went up to see the dining table set, and since it was SO uncomfortable, I went back on the other sofa, since my back didn't feel that stiff when I sat on it. And they came down and saw me *sleeping* (trust me, I wasn't sleeping) there. And he got mad and just bought that sofa. And he made an equally *temper-tantrum* remark. *If I see anyone sleep on that sofa, I will take the whole set and throw out of the gate!*. And people wonder where I get my temper tantrums from. Pathetic.

And then my quiz results came in. 13/20. Seems okay, I know where I went wrong, and I know I can do better, and I know how to do the questions I lost marks. But my dad says my marks were *beyond acceptable* and that I should do the questions I *failed*. Oh my God, I failed! I'm a failure. Mum was right, I'll never accomplish anything in life. And that is among the reasons why I am mad with my dad. Pathetic.

And I think that my neighbour Kavenesh (yes, that boy who used to my football partner-in-crime) is a smaller, darker, and chubbier version of Frank Lampard. Yes, I do. But still, he can't match Frank Lampard. And yes, I'm better than him when we play football. And that's not pathetic! *Phew*!

And Frank Lampard is the man!

*Bluesy* out!