Had the strangest arguement with my father last night. It would have been funny if it wasn't me he was yelling at, or if he wasn't so fragile. I decided I was going to bed because I was tired and mum was home from work late. Would have meant staying awake for another hour to get food and I was too pooped. I tell Dad I'm off to bed and he asks me if I'd like any food done. Fair enough. I say that like usual, I'll have whatever they're having and heat it up in the microwave later. Stumps me when he asks me what. Not like I'm going to decide what three other people eat. So he gets up stamps around and starts yelling at me to look in the freezer and decide what to eat. I stood there trying to keep steady, telling myself it was too crazy, that I wasn't being yelled at because I didn't care what we had for a meal. Dad ran off to the kitchen to look in the freezer still yelling, 'What do you want? Look in the freezer!' About then I decided it was best to run and hide. He comes into the bedroom a few minutes later to tell me with the mad look on his face that we're having sausages. I think he was pissed off because Mum was home late. That's me: Michael the emotional punching bag. The sausages do taste okay, though.