(Yes, I intended to write an entry for every day. Alas, my parents� net access died the day I got there, and thus I�m posting the paper journal entries I wrote instead a few weeks late. Sorry �bout that.)

12/31:

A real do-nothing day again. On the last day of the year, Mom put away the tree and � yes, shredded more paper and looked at boxes! The couch is filled with papers, half the floor is covered in them "because I have to clear out some space." I asked Mom last night how many boxes she got through, and she said four. Out of how many? Fifteen. Umm, shouldn�t you perhaps move on to moving stuff out of the public rooms instead? Of course not, why on earth would she do that? It�s all so much more fun to throw a panicked screaming fit tomorrow morning!

Well, I cleaned the bathroom (she hasn�t gone in yet, I guess, because she hasn�t started complaining about it yet), so she can�t say I did nothing to help. I am also attempting to make cookies for tomorrow- yes, that�s how I�m spending my swinging New Year�s, baking. Very badly, as it turns out. Mom wanted me to use this prepackaged snickerdoodle dough with cinnamon chips (it sucks), and the stuff takes a lot longer to cook than it said on the tin, so we�ve been arguing about that. It�s taking forfuckingever.

We�re not even doing anything tonight. Dinner is frozen and prepackaged (Hill would have a cow), no need to dress up and go out. Whee.

I have decided that my mother must be psychic after all, and it is, in fact, hereditary- but I inherited the wrong abilities. You wanna know why? Because she obviously expects me to just intuit how to cook in her fashion, without needing to be completely babysat at it in the way she�s had to all night long. She just gave up on me altogether and pulled me off cookie duty for incompetence. I tried to do it her way, but nearly all of it she had to do herself, and the few bits I did try, I fucked up. But really, how on earth am I supposed to know that the dough, after sitting in the fridge for over 30 minutes like it said on the box, STILL wasn�t cool enough? And she wonders why I don�t like to cook and don�t like to watch her work in the kitchen? Now she�s all "I have to make all of this myself," and she was pissed I couldn�t help without constantly needing to be babysat. And this is the kind of thing that as a woman, I�m supposed to enjoy and be good at? Honestly, this is way too much work and utter frustration for fifteen minutes of eat.

While having to shred Mom�s papers, I found some old papers of my own, including some e-mails I had from the ex back when we were fighting. I didn�t really read them again (nor did I want to), but the first line I saw of his was a major punch in the gut. It both hurt and made me mad at once. Finding it today, which was a significant day for us years ago, didn�t help either. I started feeling mostly angry again- in a "If he ever tries talking to me again I�ll spit in his face" way. Not that he would- well, he might, but I suspect if he really thinks about it, he would avoid me. He knows I�d be mean about it- though I feel at this point that I have to be mean about it. Blow him off so I wouldn�t be sucked into his web again and got all hopeful and stupid again. (Whether we�re dating or not, being friends with him is bloody complicated since he became depressed. Trying to get in sync with what was going on with me and what was going on with him eventually went to hell.) You�d think I�d know better, but I don�t trust myself. Like it or not, he�s my weak spot.

I know where he�ll be tonight- at his usual bash with all his friends, either with a date or he�ll find one there. Having a blast. Then there�s dull little me, sitting at home once again like I�m still in high school, avoiding dating, avoiding my friends (not that I would know if any tried to get ahold of me recently). Oh, I know I chose this- I had other things I wanted to avoid this year, and I can avoid them here. But man, it woulda been nice to do something tonight beyond shred papers and fight over cookie dough. Or at least have some alcohol around like I have the last few years. Stone cold sober, at home, in sweats and bored. Whee!

Then again, considering how 2001 has sucked ass ... maybe it�s good to hide at home.The "2001" montage on the news only showed really depressing things, even beyond 9-11. Like they had nothing good to show others than Barry Bonds (and me being a McGuire fan, I don�t agree with that) this year. Things have just gone to hell, and I won�t miss 2001. If I wasn�t terrified that 2002 will be even worse for me, I�d be delighted to wave a hearty middle finger in 2001�s direction and yell at it to let the door hit it in the ass on the way out. At least here I�m safe from most unpleasant changes in the world.

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