In Which Kat Really Really Tries To Keep The Angst To A Minimum And Does Not Succeed

My father just left the family. Er, yes, good morning. This new developement is not exactly appealing, but I do think I will live. It takes more than that to mess up a diehard PotO nut, since we can always keep our cases in perspective. We're not deformed and in an unrequited love affair, like Erik. Well, some of us are, but I'm not, so that's all right. I may as well tell you what happened, seeing as this blog is about me. I'm afraid my Erik-ish tendencies have gotten me in trouble once again.

Our story begins with me in the bathroom. I was, however, not using any plumbing facility. In fact, I was completing a Wiccan ritual.

All Readers: . . .Er. . .

Ay. I do all my rituals in the bathroom, mainly because some of them involve candles and the bathroom has the least amount of flammable objects. Unfortunately, the ritual I was doing today (which was a simple healing charm for a cough I've had lately) involved candles. And curse my scent of aesthetics, I used scented ones. Soon dad came into the room, demanding why he smelled burning. At first I provided him with the idea that perhaps Luke was burning my school books again. To make a long story short, he wasn't. I was caught red handed. Or blue handed, considering some of my blue wax had drizzled on to my hands.

"Give me those candles." Well, that's eventually where he arrived at, after a while of ranting.

"No."

"Why not?"

"That would be a violation of my first amendment rights, and, if we think about this as my room being my property, my eighth amendment rights too." My father's other children do not tell these sort of things to him. When my father was a child, he didn't tell these things to his parents. He doesn't like the fact that I'm a bit different than other people. I creep him out. Which I do to most people, so that's all right, most of the time.

"Er." Hark to his words of wisdom. "Give me those candles!" I wasn't about to lecture him on the Bill of Rights again. "Give me those candles or I will force you to!"

"Try it." This is my turning into Erika. My voice goes all Micheal Crawford-esque and I put on a rather disconcerting poker face. I also have the tendency, in this state, to react as my instincts require, and my instincts are stubbornness, not backing down, and being really, really, evil. "Just try it."

I think I ought to explain something to you all. Part of being me, Kat, the J.G., the PotJH, Elymas, is that I do not back down. I do not give up. I do not give in. I stick out whatever I'm in until the end, because that way eventually your opponent will forget about and go and have a cup of tea.

Unfortunately, my father doesn't like tea. He tried it. I didn't back down, to make a long story short, and Les Miz style bathroom barricades later, my mother got involved. But such is life.

They proceeded to have quite the shouting match directly in front of my (still poker) face. "This is a bad idea, fighting in front of her!"

"No it's not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

And so it went. This all ended with me sitting in a chair in the kitchen waiting for my father to come home.

I remain, gentlemen, your faithful and obedient servant,

J.G.