to hating dear old mom and dad

36 days. Just 36 more days until I am back in Indiana, far far away from my whack-job family.

Five weeks. I can make it five more weeks, can't I? Honestly, I'm not so sure. They're all insane. Henry barely talks anymore. Alex yammers on and on and on about nothing important. Dad's spineless and only yells when he feels like Mom wants him to. And if I get started on the list of issues I have with Mom, this blog post will turn into the length of one's average Russian novel.

Yes, I have every intention of paying back the $900 I owe. Yes, I will clean the fucking living room by Sunday afternoon. No, I don't have work this weekend. Yes, I was up late last night on the phone. What of it? No, I REALLY don't want to talk right now. Drop it and let me be.

Please and thank you.

35 and a half more days. You can do it, Mary. You can do it. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...

I think I can drive myself crazy if I have to put up with this for so much as one more hour.

It's not that I don't love them. I do. I just think we function much MUCH better while seperated. The four hour distance was a GODSEND. And now that I am under they're roof, I am in hell all over again.

Five more weeks. Just five more weeks. Compartmentalize and... BREATHE.