Holidays are overrated

Ok, I have like two seconds to write this because my mother is hovering out there, somewhere, waiting to spring me for something. This is why I hate the holidays! Two weeks of this! And aren't the holidays supposed to symbolise freedom for teenagers? Well, I don't get it. I come home from Melbourne and all my friends here are on school camp. Fucking great. I can't even get out of the house to see my friends. So now I'm stuck with an angry mother breathing down my neck and it's making me so nervous that even writing to you, my doubters, has me in a sweat. No joke. There's no telling what she'll make me do if she catches me. There's gardens to be weeded, horse shit to be shovelled, drains to be dug... the joys of living on a farm. I'll be a city-slicker any day. Beats wading through horse crap and suspicious stares. I'm trying to instigate my master plan of escaping to Sydney for two days sometime this week, but progress is slow thanks to the uncooperative sidekick. I kind of need mum's approval because, hello? I'm fifteen. Not exactly rolling in hundred dollar bills. If only. Maybe I'll hitch to Sydney. How awesome would that be, if I didn't get raped and abducted along the way? Doubters, I'm telling you, it's worth a try.