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January 20, 2011
He's mad at me. (There's that "he" again. Sometimes I don't notice I've switched the poor boy from the more intimate "you" to the more distant and disdainful "he." Sometimes I do it on purpose.)

Anyway, he's mad at me. I won't go to bed, you see. It's bedtime. He has to wake up early tomorrow. (Doesn't he always?) I won't go. I don't want to. I'm mad at him too, and so, in retaliation, I am acting like a child. He treats me like one, it's only to be expected.

I won't go. You can't make me, meanie.