Some people think it's strange that I entertain myself by holding conversation in my head, or sometimes pretending like I'm dictating for a journal or I'm on a crime show talking into one of those tape recorders as I hunt for clues. I find it strange that some people don't do that. How on earth do they not get bored when they have to just sit there?

That's what I'm doing right now. Just sitting there... I'm incredibly bored, but my thoughts are doing their best to keep me company. Sometimes I wish I had a voice to chat with. It would keep me company I suppose. But then I've heard those voices tend to make you do really strange things, and they have a way of making you obey them. Quite frankly, I don't like obeying other people. Or strange voices in my head...

Oh look, mass is over. Watch me do a disappearing act and slip through the crowds like a cat through shadows. Well, that's giving myself too much credit. More like a dog through rose bushes. But the end result is the same, I have escaped the church! Watch me do my copyrighted 'Thomas rules' dance. Now watch me cringe as I realize that I've been seen...

Well at least it was just some of my little sister's friends. Annoying bratty things they are. Have you ever noticed how nerve-grating eleven year olds can be? They're caught at this age where they're not quite sure whether they're children or teenagers anymore, and many of them decide to pretend to be teenagers. It's quite frightening really. Tiny little imitation teenagers running around. My sister struts around the house with this aura of "I am pre-teen, hear me roar!'. You have to give them credit though. They're about to actually become teenagers, and that's a horrible experience, if I must say so myself.

Oh, I'm proud to announce that my eighteenth birthday is coming up next Tuesday. I can now legally star in a porn movie. Isn't that a nice little tidbit to know? Not that I'd *want* to, but I *could*. Two more years and I'm no longer a teenager, but frankly, I don't see life changing all that much for me, aside from the fact that I'll be a... Junior in college I think. Heh heh heh, college... Yes, I'm grinning right now. Grinning very happily. I know where I'm going, and I know I'm going to have *fun*. And learn of course, because learning is what people go to college for. You can hear the sarcasm in my tone, right? Good. If you can't, then I'm sorry. It must be horrible to have been born that slow. Do you want a hug?

Slow... People used to think I was slow when I was younger. Oh no, I wasn't slow. I was quickly contemplating how to make their lives miserable sometime in the future. Ah, the daydreams I had. I was such a delightful child. I still am quite a child really. Not my fault that I haven't matured, blame my genes.

Hm, speaking of children, I think I'm going to stop by CVS tomorrow. I need some scented markers. Scented markers kick ass! When was the last time you drew a bleeding guy that smelt like strawberries? I can say proudly that for me, that was just yesterday. I think I'll get some play-dough too... And glue. Mmm, glue. Glue helps me make my collages. Glue is my friend. Glue tastes good.

I think my inner child is a crack baby. That would explain a lot.

Ah, my parents have exited the depths of the social gathering that is called 'After Mass Conversation'. I must say I'm rather frightened that I may become part of that gathering when I am older and married... I can see my sister being part of it though. Ugh, I shudder at the thought.

Grabbing my mother by the arm and quickly diverting her away from Ms.Jonas before they strike up a conversation, I succeed in cutting down my average parents' social time after church by a whole five minutes. My sister, having one of her rare bright moments, has managed to capture my father, and together, we deliver our parents back to our car, where they can drive us back home, or to some nice little restaurant, like I-Hop, for brunch. I-Hop is tastier than even glue, and that's saying a lot.

Oh dear God, Molly, my sister, is practicing her entire four lines in her school's play again. Why in the car? Do we not get enough of it at home? With exaggerated movements, I mimic her gestures, not stopping when she stops. What can I say? She's easy to annoy.

"Mommy, Thomas is making fun of me! Make him stop!" She whines, her shrill voice piercing through my ears. She has long perfected the art of whining.

"Thomas, stop making fun of your sister." My mother says half heartedly, paying more attention to what our father is saying.

"I'm not making fun of her!" My obligatory denial, even though I know I'm lying. Church? Wha? I don't know what you're talking about...

"Yes you are! Stop it! Mommy!"

I snicker, because I have stopped mimicking her and her plea is useless, so I simply grin at her and go back to looking out the window while she sulks. She's really not that bad of a kid, just, you'd think she would have learnt by now to ignore me or something.

Unfortunately for me, my parents decide to go back home. Not that I don't like my home, it's a nice home. Just I happen to like I-Hop. I don't want to *live* there, but I like to eat there. It makes up for the boringness of church. Le sigh. I'll just grab a pear and make my way up to the attic, where I reside.

You'd think that by the time one reaches eighteen, one would have learnt how to successfully eat a pear without dribbling pear-juice all over oneself. Unfortunately, my name is Thomas, not 'One'. Oh how I love my dry humor.

I peek into my mirror before sitting down on my bed. Oh how I love my new haircut too. This time my father did it instead of my mother. No longer do I look like I had a bowl placed over my head, but instead my brown hair is nicely cropped down to just about an inch long, and I like it, I like it very much.

That was a good pear. I think I'll get another one next time I venture into the world known as downstairs. I feel rather sleepy right now though, so I'm going to take a nap. Mm, I love my bed. It's so comfortable. And my comforter is so comfortable, and my pillows nice and soft. My eyes are closing... I am getting sleepy... I am getting sleepy... I am...

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Sitting up in my bed, staring at one of my posters(aka Britney Spears, not all that great a singer, but I'm not gonna complain about her body), and trying to remember my dream. I was only asleep for two hours, but I managed to dream, and I'd really like to remember what I dreamed about.

But no, it seems it's just not meant to be because sweet little you'd-really-like-to-kill-her-but-Mom-and-Dad-would-be pissed Molly comes running in without knocking and informs me that dinner's ready.

I blink at her. "Dinner? Already?"

She rolls her eyes. Yeah, that's right. Go ahead and roll them while you still have them. "It's six, why wouldn't dinner be ready?"

"What the fu--dge." Remembering not to swear around her is so hard. I snatch my watch off my dresser, can't sleep with it on, and look at the time again. But it says it's only one! Wait... Figures. My watch stopped and I slept a lot longer than I thought. Looking up, I realize Molly's still there. "Shoo fly, go tell the parents I'm on my way."

"Yeah yeah, whatever." She walks out my room, slamming my door behind her. When it breaks she's paying for it.

My shirt's nice and wrinkled from being slept in, which means I'm gonna have to either iron it or use that nifty spray on stuff next time I want to wear. Not gonna wash it though. Smells fresh... enough. Unbuttoning the shirt, I stare at my sexy self in my full length mirror. Vain? Oh yes. But at least I'm not in denial. Alright, so maybe I'm not *that* sexy, but I'm no Uncle Fester. Ugh, I *hate* buttons.

Peering down at my floor, I spot a shirt I wore about a week ago. Smells clean. No visible stains. Good to go! I slip on the green shirt and make my way downstairs, my patented "Oh look! See? I'm happy to see you and ready to eat dinner while talking about pointless things with you!" smile on my face. Of course, they don't know that's what the smile means though.

Strolling in to the kitchen, I sit down and marvel at my perfect timing as my father starts setting the stuff down on the table. Yeah, my father cooks. And thankfully too. My mother would kill us all.

Hehe, the seven deadly sins are fun. Pride, lust, greed, gluttony, sloth, wrath, and envy. I can do without the last two, especially the last one, but the others are really fun. Ooh, my parents aren't looking. Perfect time to sneak a bite of the mashed potatoes. Excellent as always. My parents have this problem with eating before praying. I say if God cares about little things like that, he isn't busy enough and should stop nitpicking.

Molly's glaring at me for some reason. Wonder why. Such a little brat. You can tell I love her, right? It *must* be obvious. I really do love her though. She's so annoying and I want to just strangle her with her pigtails sometimes, but I still love her. She's my little sister. I mean, we've got common genes! I love myself so much it'd be wrong to not love her!

Uh oh... I know that look from Dad... I get to say grace. Wheefun!

Clear my throat. Clasp my hands together. Clear my throat again. Wince slightly as Molly kicks me under the table for stalling. Close my eyes. "Thank you God for providing us with this meal together, and for letting us be here together on this lovely Sunday evening. Amen." Short and sweet. Eyes open. Fork in hand. Dig in!

As we eat we go through the normal motions of dinner: Please pass the gravy. Did you hear that Mrs. Olmstin is having a baby? Is there any more chicken? I got a B+ on my Physics project. Dad, Thomas is trying to make me choke! (and I wasn't trying to make her choke...directly. I was trying to make her laugh, which would lead to her choking)

After dinner, I make a quick getaway, leaving Molly to do the dishes, and head up to my room to... I'm not quite sure what exactly.

Sitting on my bed, I look around. There really doesn't seem to be much to do except sleep. I got my homework done earlier. Hm...

Heh, that's a good picture of Catherine Zeta Jones on my wall. She looks really hot. Oh yeah, *really* hot...

Sorry. Mind went off track for a moment there. Does that a bit. You know what? I'm going to get ready for bed. So what if it's barely seven? I can get ready. It doesn't mean I'm going sleep, just means I'll be ready when I do.

I have my own bathroom, and I'm rather glad. No worrying about whether I should leave the toilet seat up or down to save my mother or sister from nasty falls in the middle of the night.

Have you ever noticed how good it feels to relieve oneself? To quote a female friend of mine: "I love peeing! Well, not really the act, but you feel so good after!" I love that girl.

Let's see... wash the face, brush the teeth. Ain't nobody dope as me, I'm just so fresh and clean. Oh yes, I like that song. Because I'm too sexy for this toothbrush, too sexy for this mirror, too sexy, oh yeah. And I don't care how vain you think I am because all things considered, I'm doing just fine. Brownie points to anyone that knows the last song.

Dance into the bedroom, free myself of the t-shirt and khakis and into the PJs! I love my PJs. They're nice and warm. And they're blue, with black stripes. Yup, I'm classy. I'm the shiznit. I'm all that and a bag of lays potato chips. I've got everything *and* the kitchen sink.

Ah, I love me.

Now what to do, what to do. I could always just stand here, looking at the floor...

Or...

Heh heh heh. Copyrighted Thomas has a plan smile. I am going to have so much fun. You just watch. Of course you will though, because you're me and I'm talking to myself.

Let's see, I need weapons. Ah, good sized pillow. Perfect.

Walk quietly out the room. No one. Sneak down the stairs. No one. Slip through the hall, stop at Molly's bedroom door. Still no one.

One.

Two.

Three!

"ATTACK!" I burst into her room, scaring the bejeezus out of her as I commence to throw my pillow at her then start running around her bed. Ha! She missed! She threw her pillow at me. Now, for the final attack, I leap onto her bed and tickle her! Take that little miss princess!

Uh oh... I hear the parental units coming. Time for the escape. I grab my pillow and run back upstairs.

See? Now *that's* what fun is. Someday she's gonna sit in a psychologist's office and say "It's all my older brother Thomas's fault." Or she'll say "It was Thomas's fault, he drove me insane!" after she gets arrested by the cops for murdering several young men that look like me.

Gonna watch TV now. Ooooh! The Simpsons Marathon. Niice. I love that cartoon.

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I love that cartoon so much but my eyelids have gained weight cause I"m having trouble keeping them open. Gonna just slip under my covers and rest my eyes a bit... Heh, gotta love Bart, he's funny, reminds me when I was younger, and now... Mmm, nice and warm. Just gonna curl up and start dreaming a bit. But I'm not gonna fall asleep, even though I have school tomorrow and should anyway. No, I'm gonna stay away and watch the rest of the...Simpsons...

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