"Are you having a breakdown?"
"A BIG ONE! I've been having one coming for a long time, and THIS IS IT!" -Ira and Glenda Parks, Seems Like Old Times.

(Is it sad that I can quote this from memory?)

Is there ever going to be a point in my life where the hell stops? I mean, seriously, is there EVER?

I have spent most of the day trying to read through my Rushman astrology book in tandem with looking up charts on astro.com, trying to find out when the hell is going to end. As far as I can tell, it just plain isn't. At all.

Though reading through the Miller book again, it sure seems like happy things are coming true from it- FOR OTHER PEOPLE. (Coleen you are SO MOVING THIS YEAR. I am not kidding.)

But more on that in a bit.

Mom is going through old tapes of hers trying to find some West Wing episode (yes, she needs the TiVo- if they caved for cable, they can cave for TiVo). She found some godawful "angel" Christmas show on tape around lunchtime (whatever one had Peggy Bundy and Columbo in it), and I made especially noisy requests NOT to watch it.
"What, you don't like angels?" she said. "Oh, they're not dark enough for you?"
"They're cheesy and sappy and cornball and I don't relate to them at all," I said. (Yeah, a being that's never been human and is all about the joy and peace and love? I sure as hell don't get any of that.) "I can't stand watching that crap. They throw in angels just to make people cry, and I do not get why anyone would deliberately choose to watch something that would make them cry. There's enough in the world that'll make you cry already."
"What? You don't like to cry?"
"NO."

Whee, a foreshadowing remark!

Everyone on the planet has called this house today BUT the CT people. Everyone. Mom's boss, my aunt, insurance people, any old random people, I lost track of all the people. But for an appointment? Hell no. Let's just hope nobody tried to call while Mom was on the phone.

Around 5 p.m., she got a call that got my hopes up listening to it...until I heard the dreaded words, "come over here." As in, have someone come over here? Oh fucking crap.

Sure enough, it was a call from some delivery guy- can he come by and drop off some sort of chair lift for Dad in oh, about an hour?

And thus commenced a "Flight of the Bumblebee" cleaning spree. Which really translated into "move all of the Christmas gifts of Dad's off the couch and into Jen's room to the point where she can't actually enter it", and "move all of the crap on the end of the bed into Jen's room, etc.", and "move all of the stuff UNDER the bed into Jen's room, etc." While everyone panics for an hour, and Dad has various immediate toilet difficulties that force me to clean while holding one hand over my eyes so as not to see anything I could be arrested for seeing.

The funny thing is, this lift? It's pretty much like my new hanging chair, except with wheels on the bottom. Now both Dad and I have hanging chairs...

The good news: they'll be in Monterey on Saturday doing the relative thing, and hey, do I want to be picked up on the way back? HELL YEAH. (Plus, spares me from being dragged to the PITA's that night, which is now going to go on even if we're not supposed to bloody leave the house, don't ask me how THAT works out. I guess Mom finally listened to Jess's "geez, just have the hospital call your cell already" thing.)

The bad news is: I called it: she's moving. Mike got a new job down south, and they'll be moving ASAP.

I can't say I'm surprised, except that it's this fast, and said as much.

But...fuckola anyway. I'm going to have one friend left in town by the end of next year (at least Denise shouldn't be moving, since she's going to grad school in Sac next year). As my current shrink would say, another person in my "support system" gone. And Heather'll be next anyway, it's just a matter of time.

Why is it that everything always gets worse and not better?

Always?

Nothing ever gets easier for me, and I'm tired of things getting worse upon worse upon worse. I feel like Calamity Jen- some sort of lightning rod for all kinds of hell happening that I don't initiate.

So, I had a mini-breakdown today of wandering around the house crying (normally I'd just go hide in my roo, but I couldn't get INTO my room) hysterically. I ended up getting into the van and sobbing to hide myself from the chair delivery guy. At least I didn't have a Hysterical Screaming Breakdown quite yet, though I'm feeling pretty close to it if someone pushes the right buttons. (Thank god Mom and I are not fighting right now, because I would make no promises on that one otherwise.)

I am just tired of everything going to shit. So is Mom.

Is this going to be a trend? Like last year, where I spent New Year's with Dave and never saw him again after the first few weeks of January, and this year, where Jess'll be gone at the latest by the spring?

I want to pickle myself in a vat of alcohol. Except the only alcohol we had was a bottle of wine, and Mom just gave that away to the delivery man.

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