There is a cockroach in my room. Fuck. It's about as long as my palm, maybe a bit more, maybe a bit less, and it has long antenna. I can't kill roaches, but I can't tell my mom about it because it climbed under one of the few remaining piles of junk in my room and mom was getting on to me last night for my room not being spotless. I have two piles of stuff, one is dirty clothes I need to clean and the other is the pile with junk for Ben's scrap book and now I CANNOT work on it because I am freaking out about that roach.

Damn.

My house is infested.

And I want to know why I'm always the one with roaches going in her room (I saw one walking in several months ago and killed it) when my brother has more shit on his floor AND keeps gobs of food in his room. WTF, yanno? W. T. F.

Damn. Why me?