I hate being told I'm a failure, but all I ever do is sit on my butt and whine about it. And now, after a right royal tantrum, I can't even feel sorry for myself properly, because it is my own stupid fault.

I don't wish to psychoanalyse myself just yet. But the way my parents and the bf deal with me when I am by turns hysterically lachrymatory and flying into a passion are eeriely similar.

So similar, that I ought to remember the rarity of finding someone able to tolerate the self that one only exposes to family.

I am not a happy bunny right now. And no, I don't want carrots to go with that, thank you. There's no need to exacerbate wrath and sloth with gluttony.