As you may or may not know, I’m not very fond of my mother.

And the thing is, because she bullies my dad quite a lot, I can’t help but cover my ears and scream in my little pretty head: “I CAN’T WAIT UNTIL I NO LONGER LIVE IN THE SAME HOUSE AS YOU BITCH”.

Every time she shoots some horrible retort at my dad because he’s, for example, doing something she told him to do, I find myself clinging to the future.

You see, I’ve always had this notion — call it a dream, if you will — that I won’t end up living in this country.

I have a thing against the UK.  “Why?”, you ask?  Quite simple.

On any given day, there will be at least one point where the sky is overcast.  This makes kittens (and me) cry.

And don’t get me started on the teenage pregnancies, the rude (and generally mindless) people, and the government.

I just don’t like it here.  Through and through.  What’s wrong with that?  Last time I checked, freedom of travel was a human right.

And so here I sit, clinging to my future because I have to believe that there’s a better world out there.

And when I say ‘better world’, I mean a place where the people are generally friendly, the weather matches the seasons and the government isn’t full of complete snakes.

I like to think this ‘better world’ is called Canada:  I’ve been there four times.  It was nom ‘cuz, like, seriously, those Canadians have some awesome-hat weather.

Where was I again?   Oh right.

So yeah, I can’t wait to get out of this country.  Partially to get away from the madre, partially because I want — I need — a place to call my own.  A place where I feel I belong.

That aint here, folks.

If you’re in the giving mood, I’ll accept a plane ticket to Canada at your earliest convenience.

No pressure though, dudes.  I’ll get there soon enough.

Laters.