i wasn't raised right.

At least, that's how I feel sometimes. I mean, no, I didn't grow up in the streets and I'm not filthy poor, or any sob story like that. I feel for those people, I really do, because their lives have really got to be shit.

Yes, I do have the gall to complain about my life. At least a little bit. True, I never knew my dad--but from what I heard, he was an asshole, so I'm not missing much. And it's also true that my mom loves me and I have friends that care, so I'm really not that unfortunate.

But I would like to recap my yesterday if you don't mind. I'm a junior in High School and I have my license (yippee!); however, that means that I'm in charge of picking up my little brother from football practice after school since my mom's usually still at work. Most the time I don't mind. He's not a complete prick when he's having a good day. So I pick him up at six and bring him Burger King trying to be a nice sister and we talk all the way back home and stuff. Then we get on Netflix and I get bored with that because their options really aren't that great, so I flip it back to TV. I have the remote, which he hates.

I turn it to Eat Pray Love. Why? Because that movie is the bees knees. Even my older brother, the one in college, loves it, and he's a manly man. But my little brother, he does not. So he starts yelling at me. And screaming to change it, getting seriously angry. I'm just thinking, "Woah, holy shit, it's just a movie..." because he's going nuts. Then he gets out of his recliner and marches over to the couch where I'm sprawled out and demands the remote, acting all intense.

Naturally, because I'm a bitch, I hide it behind my back. No se gusta. He totally jumps me, twisting my arm behind my back until I screaming bloody murder. That pisses me off. I retaliate, which isn't the smartest thing to do but it's instinctual, and try to land a punch or two.

And, man oh man, if I thought he was going ape-shit before, it was nothing compared to right when I hit him. His face was just a few shades light of a tomato-red, and then the real violence broke out. He was kicking me and punching me and I knew better than to fight back; it only makes it worse.

So the second I saw the opportunity, I darted away from him, simultaneously grabbing my car keys, and fled the house. He is a football player for Pete's Sakes! The boy's got muscle!

I didn't have very much gas in my car, but that didn't stop me from driving off. I live right on the outskirts of town, so I just drove. I was all country around me. Eventually, when I was scared I wouldn't have enough fuel to make it back home, I pulled over to the side of the dirt road and turned off my car and just sat there. I rolled down the windows (it's still summer and I live in Texas, mind you) and my radio played. I switched the music to country. I don't know why country music's so much more appropriate for the setting, but Katy Perry was grating my nerves.

I sat there in my car for like an hour, just listening to the occasional car drive by. It was almost sunset when I went back home.

That was yesterday. I think that's going to be my new favorite spot for when I just need a break from life. I did some pretty serious thinking.

Maybe I'm not the one who wasn't raised right. Maybe it's just him.

Then again, I'm writing this as I skip school.