|not me, obviously, and I have no fever, but you get the idea|
I'm at the pseudorelatives' house tonight. It's my home away from home, with my very own bedroom and bathroom. I needed to come over here anyway to play through my violin pieces with Uncle Scott, and it seemed pointless to go home since my mom is not exactly being civil to me. I have a bad stomach ache, which I can have just as well here as there. It's not my appendix, as I no longer have one. It's not my gallbladder, as I no longer have one of those, either. It's not quite painful enough to be a kidney stone, and it's in the wrong place for that anyway. It appears to be a garden variety stomach ache. Pseudouncle says I've suffered for long enough and am entitled to relief. I don't like too many drugs, but I'm tired of the stomach ache, so I let him inject me with something. I took a pill first but didn't keep it down.
The violin pieces went fine. We're ready to roll. I wish the recital were in one more day instead of in five more days.
Tomorrow I don't have to be anywhere so I'm going to court to hear pseudoaunt deliver the rebuttal portion of closing arguments in a murder case she's second-chair prosecuting. She and the defense attorney are not fond of one another, and sparks may fly. She's good even under boring circumstances, and these circumstances are far from boring.
The last time I was in court with pseudoaunt, which was about a month ago, a truant officer showed up and questioned me as to why I was not in school. He had to examine my ID carefully to determine that it was not a fake and that it really was I in the picture. I suppose the same thing could happen again tomorrow. I've totally given up on the idea of being able to sneak into bars or clubs before I'm legally old enough to be there; it would just be nice not to be accosted by truant officers when I'm going about my business. Oh, well. That's the way the ball bounces.