I hate living at home. For some reason, I am always wrong. My dad always has a better idea, or I did something stupid, even though it wasn't. Today, I had him help me with a scholarship, and he was looking up financial stuff for it, and I said that I threw away one of the papers with the stuff on it, and he's like well why did you do that. Even though I had the same info in another packet, I did something stupid. And when I was reading off the stuff, He's like, that's not right. So the same info that was on the other paper that I threw away was wrong, according to his records. So what was the point of asking me. He makes this huge deal of keeping records for places that I know I'm not going, and when I say anything, he yells at me. One day I said something about that and he started telling me that he knows exactly what I'm feeling and he's been through exactly the same thing. When was he at a school where he didn't have any friends? when was the last time that he was harassed by teachers? He doesn't know have of the stuff that I've had to put up with in high school. I don't tell them half of the stuff that happened at Allen East, and I don't tell them about classes here. He doesn't know anything, despite that fact that he knows better than me.