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891. Or, Dont' Call It A Come Back.

Important points before I begin my real entry:
- I finally have a computer to work with at my house, so, should something strike me as Diaryland Worthy, it will find its home here.
- Aside from that small issue, there really hasn't been anything to report on, or to write about. It's been Work. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat. for months, and that's been fine. I mean, this is the fucking American Dream, is it not? (This topic will be explored in greater detail at some point in the near future.)
- I owe apologies to everyone that has been kind enough to leave me notes, and comments. I just didn't have the time to reply (again, more later) or the presence of mind to leave anything coherent. I'm sorry.
- Special apology to the29th. I suck, and my new schedule is all fucked up... and, I'm sorry I didn't call you back. Also to Michael. See, I got really sick. Like, drop out of life for a week sick, and I still don't think I'm a full Carie, but I had no choice but to maintain, and it's just wearing me out.
So what. And, shut up. Let's go.
. . .
It all stops the moment something big happens. Big enough for the Mack tuck of the end of your childhood to come at you while you mock the deer in headlights look.
My brother got married yesterday.
Even typing that makes me cry, and maybe because when, and I've said this before, maybe it's because when you've spent your whole life attached to someone, watched them grow, then it's just over. All over. Done.
My mother and sister left this morning after eight days in my apartment. I had been close to my limit, but the entire situation of my sanity was tested and failed. I got better. We enjoyed each other's company, even while I could feel the hand of God question every fucking move I made outside to smoke, and every inch of my hand while I ate to fill up the hole.
So. We worked out asses off for this wedding. I feel like I've just come out of a month long coma. And I was forced to watch the resentment my brother had building for my mother explode, until it was something we couldn't avoid looking at. It's so much easier when you don't have to look at it, when everyone is apart and no one cares to talk about it. As the eldest sibling, as having a good relationship with my mother, I had to hold my tongue. I will have to hold my tongue. I will have to sit and watch the stupidity my brother acts with, no, wields like a fucking axe. I love him like a twin, but I can't say shit. Then to watch my parents, married over 20 years, divorced half that long, not speak to each other. My crazy fucking grandmother act out the bullshit she's been saving for years. My brother's father in law rip the microphone from my hands before, as the best "man", I could make a toast. Because I'm supposed to be low class. And, amazingly enough, I found grace there. I let them all go, but brought home enough baggage to fill my apartment and then some.
. . .
But. Let's face it. I'm unhappy. I am unsatisfied with this life I have made for myself. As my mother said, I am "blessed" with a wonderful not-a-boyfriend, my cat is happy and healthy, I have a decent apartment I can call home, and a job that pays the bills and affords me my lifestyle. What the fuck is missing?
. . .
Here is my day of rest. I'll be around.

9:48 a.m. - 2004-10-17

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