Fuck ’em: and everyone who looks like ’em

Ever Dearest Diary,

This is pissing me off now. After tonight’s rehearsal, I said that I am to meet an eminent scientist in town tomorrow, which was met with vehement disapproval.

I mentioned that I am supposed to be doing my homework, that I didn’t have time for such trifling pleasantries.

This was met with distain. “I am meeting an eminent scientist in town tomorrow.”

“You will not meet your friend tomorrow.”

I just didn’t care, and spouted a load of Latin. This was regarded as such.

“What ya talkin’ French for?”

As if you could even begin to understand that which is said to you! I told them in no uncertain terms: that I intend to escape the clutches of Cold Comfort Farm and that I am autonomous. I do that which I please, not to be at the behest of stern and assertive illiberal wrong-headedness that would see my liberty curtailed.

These people have no impact on me, blood red or no, I am my own man, and if I say I am to meet fair Adrienne, then it shall be so. No other way. This is Maximus they are talking to, not some chaperoned whelp. This is me, this is Max. I do what I wish, and that, is the end of it.