I raked and bagged it all: an hour's outdoor exercize, which I certainly needed. Weena wanted to go to the supermarket, so we took off, leaving Rob with finishing his report. Or at least the first draft of his report."Have you spoken with Michiko?" I asked."Friday. She's going a bit stir-crazy, but Rachel is happy and gurgling and kicking." I'll have to call Chaz before the CSIRO rumor mill gets to him." When we get back, if you can get daddy off the phone." That bad?" I've not eaves-dropped, but he goes on for an hour or so at a time. Teenagers!" Well, he must be doing other things. He was on a trip and he's been working on his report." Oh. And he bought a car yesterday. He took yours and drove around, shopping. He told me this morning that he'd made a purchase. He's to take delivery tomorrow." What did he buy?" No idea. You can ask him when we get back. That's boy talk." You're probably right."When we got home, Weena made a big salad for lunch. Afterward, I took my book and sat. So basically I had read the bitch's diary. It made me ill, all of the poetic lovey-dovey crap that she wrote down about some guy named Bart. The girl didn't have one ounce of talent in her body. Everything that I read screamed piss-poor, greeting card crap.The madder I got during the conversation the more active my imagination became. I watched Hillary as she talked, while in my mind I was breaking her cool calm and yanking her fucking nose out of her head. I wanted to make the bitch hurt. I wanted to make her see her own insignificance. I wanted fear in place of condescension. I wanted tears instead of haughty gazes. I wanted squeals of pain instead of mocking tones.My thoughts were interrupted when the bitch's friend got up to leave. The bitch returned to the living room after showing Laura out, "I'm going to bed. Turn the goddamn TV down."I flipped her off and cranked up the volume.An hour later I turned off the TV not being able to take another re-run. I went into the bathroom to.
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