The Walking T-1000

About my dream from last night.  I don’t know how I got here…but I was at this huge summer camp that was full–and I mean full–of zombies.  You couldn’t walk anywhere without bumping into some of them.  A lot of them seemed to be students from school who I haven’t seen in a while…like, I kept walking past this one spot where a girl I recognized was standing, and she was a zombie (except that she didn’t seem changed a whole lot from who she’d been before)…and she kept asking for my hat.  And I wouldn’t give it to her.

I kept walking through all the zombies, growing increasingly nervous, thinking one of them was bound to notice me eventually…and then I saw T-1000.  Because I was apparently stupid in this dream, I headed in that direction, without thinking about the obvious fact that T-1000 would be killing whatever actual humans were left, even if he did manage to take out some zombies, as well.  So I got to, like, touching distance from T-1000, and I was just watching him mutilate people left and right (and they were all becoming zombies)…and then he turned and looked at me.  So I ran.  Okay, and I know it’s really stupid to try and outrun a Terminator…so then I just threw him a decoy.  Milo’s ex happened to be standing right there…so I threw her into T-1000 and kept on running.  I don’t know if she was still alive or already a zombie by that point, but I figured she was worth sacrificing to the…um…cause.

So then I jumped onto a bus.  I think it was the end of the week at camp, and all of these people were supposed to be going home, so I ran to the middle of the bus and just collapsed…but then I noticed that all the people around me on the bus were zombies.  I hadn’t expected any of them to be on the bus.  But they were.  So I looked down to the front, and the driver herself was not a zombie…but for some reason she was Jennifer Lawrence.  I made eye contact with her, noticed in the mirror above her that the zombies seemed to be showing us more and more interest…and said, “Um…can I have a word with you?”

We step off the bus, and I say, “What the hell are you doing driving zombies around!?”  She says, “Wouldn’t you, if it was the only way you knew of to escape from this madness?”  So I said, “Yeah.  Good point.”  And she started to say something else, but I never found out what that was, because at that moment, a bunch of the zombies from the bus jumped out and pounced on her.  And I ran.  Harder and faster than I had run from T-1000, because he was at least hot.  I did not want to be eaten by zombies.

So now I’m way on the other side of the camp, and I of course have to rest, and I just fall over, and I’m panting…and I look up, and that one girl from school says, “I still like your hat.”

I freeze–she’s at a dangerously close proximity to me (like, right over me and I’m lying on the ground)–so I grudgingly, slowly give her my hat–taking the one she has on her head, this little black beret-type-thing, and putting it on my head–and she just stares at me as I remember The Walking Dead , and the only way to get through a whole humongous group of zombies like that:  Pretend to be one.

So I make myself look as zombiful as possible, and I’m just walking…really…really…s-l-o-w-l-y…………and somehow, eventually, I finally make it back to the buses…and I climb back onto Jennifer Lawrence’s bus, expecting it to be empty this time, as all the zombies had jumped off to snack on her, and once I step onto the bus I practically fly all the way to the back of it so I can just rest for a while, hopefully without being noticed…and then I realize that I am lying across not one, but several laps.

This jolting realization causes me to, again, leap up into the air as though I can fly, and I’ve sort of jumped back several seats, and fall into another one, where I realize once again I am sitting on another lap…and I jump up again…and there are people all around me, even more than there had been the first time…but after my initial panic, I realize that these aren’t zombies–it’s a bus full of soldiers (who all happen to be super-hot)!

So, they’re all just staring at me oddly, obviously wondering what had caused my little freak-out…and I said, “You’re not zombies?” (just to clarify, you know) and they look at each other, confused, and sort of laugh, and they’re like, “Uhh…no…?”

I look out the bus windows, and the zombies are still out there, all walking around aimlessly…nothing’s changed…and then I look at them as if they’re insane, and say, “Haven’t you noticed the zombies?  How did you get here, anyway?  What are you doing here?”

They tell me they’ve been sent to kill some sort of supersoldier from the future, but, not finding one, just a bunch of drunk people, they packed up their weapons and got back on the bus, and were now just waiting for the driver, and was that me?

I stared at them in shock for a few moments and said, “You have…weapons?”

They did; but all of the weapons were packed up and disassembled, in the compartments on the side of the bus.

“Well…umm…I’m your driver…” I said, thinking to myself that I would figure out how to actually drive the bus when it came to that, “…and, uh…you all…need to be armed.  I’ll open the compartments there, and you all get your weapons as quickly as possible.”

So I get out by myself and somehow open the side things, and they follow me out and get all their weapons and everything, and I tell them to just start shooting anything that movies…and they were taking out zombies left and right, and then T-1000, perhaps drawn by the sound of the firearms, just showed up, looking really hot, too, and they all immediately stopped shooting and turned to look at him.

“Um…guys?” I said, cautiously, expecting T-1000 to start running at us any second.  “He’s not that easy to kill…in fact, I don’t really think you can kill him….  I’m going to start the bus…and you all…keep your weapons out…and get on….”

I don’t know why they were listening to me–as the driver, I guess I just outranked them–but they did what I said, keeping the weapons trained on him, and slowly stepping back onto the bus.  And then…very slowly, at first, but not for long…T-1000 started to run for the bus…and I was starting up the engine, and then I remembered that I didn’t know how to drive a damned bus…so I started to panic, and then thought, Aw, how hard could it be?… and stepped on the gas and barrelled into a bunch of zombies that were still moving, and then in the direction of the road, wherever that was…and T-1000 latched himself onto the back of the bus and I heard this really loud banging as I imagine he was trying to break in, and I’m freaking out, and the military guys are like, “Damn!  You might have been right about this guy!” and I yelled in panic and frustration, “OFCOURSEI’MRIGHTHAVEN’TYOUEVERWATCHEDTHETERMINATOR!?”

I wouldn’t know if we ever got out of that or not, because I woke up.  And when I thought about it…this dream was really freaking funny.

I’m afraid my computer is going to restart and I’ll lose all of this, so I’ll go ahead and post it now.  Yeah.



I watched A Wrinkle in Time today.  That movie is terrible–don’t watch it if you’re expecting the book.  It’s nothing like the book.  If it had been given another name, it might have been okay…but no.

I had the above worded so much better before I signed on here.

Anyway, in one of the scenes which is not in the book, Meg is talking to herself.  Not normal talking to herself, though…talking to herself in a crazy sort of way.  And her evil side tells her flat-out, “You know what your problem is?  Nobody loves you.  Nobody will ever love you because you are ugly, stupid, and weird.”  And et cetera.  This was, almost verbatim, part of what Sister used to say to me every day when we were growing up.  I was just…in shock…that I was hearing it from another source.  The angels in the movie later told her not to give in to evil (referring to that side of herself), and I just thought…wow.  It feels like they’re talking to me.

What is ironic is that Meg has always reminded me of myself, and Charles Wallace of Brother.  The first time I read this book was in 5th grade, and they were roughly the same ages as Brother and myself at that time.  Their physical descriptions are similar to us–Meg is described as having frizzy brown hair and glasses, and Charles was a small boy with brown hair–vague, of course, but they still describe us…and the relationship between the two of them has also always reminded me of mine and Brother’s.

I was digging through my old handwritten journals tonight and found this irritating story from 9/29/15:

She is such a bitch!  Psychobrat has strategically worked it out so that I can rarely-to-never use the internet without shouting at her to get off, and if I do by some chance get on, she pitches a royal-ass fit.  Any fighting over the computer gives Dad more incentive to want to get rid of it, so this is definitely something we shouldn’t do.  Psychobrat either does not realize this painfully obvious fact, or she does and it is all part of the plan to be the only one who can ever use it when she wants, which is always.  She claims that she has many hours of homework to do on it each night…on the internet…yeah…this makes sense.  First of all, how can just one stupid high schooler have hours of homework every night?  Second, how does all of it involve the internet?

When she’s not doing homework, it’s still her turn because it “just isn’t fair” that she never gets to do anything on it but homework (even though I’ve found her on Facebook–where she’s not even allowed, but in the privacy of her own bedroom no one gives a shit–when she was supposedly doing homework, on numerous occasions).

So that covers almost the entire time she is home.

The few times when I actually have an opportunity to get on are brief, short-lived, and far-between.  She will inevitably interrupt, saying that she has homework, or has to talk to the all-powerful, almighty Denise or one of her other divine friends.  If I protest that it should be my turn, for obvious reasons, she will deny all of the above and start screaming like the spoiled ox’s ass that she is.

Tonight, for example–Cortney called to say good night at the moment when I had finished my few hours of bookwork (this is rare; and I am a college student!) and then asked if I would be online later.  Yes, I replied, now seemed just the perfect opportunity–I could get on for half an hour (which is a long time nowadays) and then actually be in bed by 10 for a good night’s sleep!  So I go and attempt to sign on, and Psychobrat immediately starts screeching that I kicked her off in the middle of an all-important conversation with Goddess Denise!  So this of course pissed off Dad, and, not wanting to lose the computer, I came straight to bed instead.  It is now 10:00.  Why must she be such a fucking brat?

I really don’t have a lot new to say right now.  I’ve sort of forgotten everything I had wanted to say earlier, so I’ll sign off for now.

One Of Those Things That Could Destroy The Universe

This is so funny, and so the sort of thing that would happen to me, it demands a mention.  I went to the movie with Gary, George, and Milo last night, and when Gary and George were standing outside waiting for us, they saw two people walk by that they thought were us…but when the people got closer, Gary and George realized they were not us…they just looked exactly like us, except ten years older.  And so they were joking around about how they couldn’t let us see them, because then we might cause a paradox that would destroy us or the entire universe.  Before I knew what they were talking about (because I could only hear bits and pieces of George and Milo’s conversation before Gary told me what was going on), I heard George say, “It was really f—ing bizarro, man.”  And at first I was upset that I had missed it, but then I realized that I can’t see Bizarro Me, because of course it would destroy the universe!  Have any of our Bizarro selves ever actual seen their alter-egos?  Gary didn’t see Bizarro Gary until we showed him the picture…and Milo and Bizarro Milo have met, but they knew they were going to meet before they did.  Bizarros can not meet their counterparts.  It would be catastrophic.  So I will no longer be upset by the fact that I have personally never seen a Bizarro Ginny.

…Also…if Gary and George saw Future Milo and Ginny together…does that mean that we are…together…in the future?  That’s a good omen!

I was thinking more about it, and I concluded that, were those two people really the Milo and me of the future (and therefore, hopefully, actually together), then, ten years from now, we must have the capability to travel through time…so why would we have traveled to that moment?  Maybe only a few people in the future (namely, the two of us) actually have that capability, so what would be more natural than for us to travel around and play random jokes on our friends?  In order for us to have been practically joking, though, we would have to have known that we had gone to a movie that night with Gary and George at AMC…it would have to have been written down somewhere.  Sort of like a map–so we would know, “Well, they were here at this time waiting for us….”  So I wrote down on my calendar for said date, “Rogue One with Gary and George, 9:40 AMC”…just to make everything possible, see.  If I hadn’t written it down, we wouldn’t know ten years from now, so then we couldn’t have come back, and that wouldn’t have been us that they saw last night.  But I have now made it possible for them to have been us–and only because I already know “we” were there.  Like…”I knew I could do it…because…well, I’d already done it!”  Or like in Back to the Future, when Marty teaches Johnny B. Goode to Marvin Berry, even though he knew it because it was Chuck Berry’s song.  Like that.  This has been a thoroughly confusing and hard-to-follow post.  Hopefully most of you get what I’m talking about.  My main point–in writing that information down on my calendar, I was trying to ensure that this event happens in the future (and that said people actually are together at this time).

Discovering Christmas

Psychobrat is in her room rearranging things.  She’s making a huge mess of the rest of the house by cleaning stuff out of her room.  I mean, she just has no respect for the rest of the family, you know?

I have a feeling Milo won’t be here on New Year’s Eve.  If he’s not at his sister’s, he’ll be with somebody else…which means I won’t be able to kiss him like I’ve planned.

About half an hour ago, right before he went to bed, he was standing right here talking to me.  It was almost completely dark in here–the only lights came faintly from the hallway, from the monitor right in front of me, and from the Christmas tree just behind him.  The tree cast this extraordinarily warm and enchanting magical glow on him, where his face was half hidden in shadows, but half lit by the multi-colored lights.  This season hasn’t really felt much like Christmas to me, for some reason…not even the songs have been doing it for me.  But even though Christmas was yesterday, looking at him just then…it was the most Christmas-y thing I’d seen all year.  I so wanted to stand up, wrap my arms around him, and kiss him good night…but of course I did not.  And he went to bed.

The Cyclops Dream

My dream last night was pretty creepy.  I was informed by some official-seeming source that I needed to appear at a particular building in another city at a certain time on a certain day.  They had a mission for me, and apparently I was the only one in the world that they knew of (for some reason?) who could help.

So I went, because the whole thing sounded so Men in Black-ish (and because this was a dream), and appeared inside this building which I had believed to be nearly empty, but which, in actuality, held a whole bunch of newscasters, who were the ones to tell me what exactly I had to do.

They told me that some mad scientist (maybe not mad, but he had gotten in a bit over his head and had put the world in danger) had created this…thing.  A huge monster, which I wish I could show you, but I can only describe in words.  I think this building had like 40 stories…and then there was a ledge on the outside, a really wide ledge, like the width of another huge room on the side, but it was a ledge nonetheless…and the monster rose up to this ledge when standing.  It was green, with one huge, bright yellow eye taking up most of its head.  It could shoot lasers or lightning or something out of its eye, completely disintegrating, inside a fireball which would then evaporate, whatever it aimed for.  However, its eye always turned to a reddish pink before this occurred, so you’d know it was aiming, and could possibly dodge it.  Maybe.

Somehow, they informed me, I had to take out the monster.  And I can’t remember now what it was about me…it couldn’t aim when I was there, or…I was immune to it—no, that’s not it, because I remember still being afraid of it (maybe because it also ate people?)—I don’t know, but there was something about me that affected or was affected by the monster differently than anyone else.

So they all waited inside, and sent me out on this ledge to face the monster, armed with something that shot similar beams as the monster’s, because we all thought perhaps that could destroy it.  There were other people out there, sheltered behind little alcoves (like I said, it was basically a whole room, except with no wall on that end, just a drop), and looking through those things you put quarters in to see at a distance.

While standing there looking up at the thing, I noticed somebody next to me, looking through another of these and frantically writing things on a clipboard.  He was dressed in a white lab coat, like he was a doctor or something, so I approached him and asked what he was doing.

It was M. Night Shyamalan, in a cameo appearance, just as though this were one of his films.

He ended up being the scientist who had created this thing, and he seemed completely regretful, but like he couldn’t help creating it for some reason…and he was saying how he was in charge of figuring out how to destroy it (while I was the one who actually had to do it)…and then a little while later, a bit farther down this ledge, another monster popped up…and I looked at him in complete shock, and he said, “I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t help it!  I had to make a female, too!”

That’s really all I remember, excepting running forward, a whole lot closer to the things, and their eyes turning pink and shooting at me, and me running to the sides and just dodging the fire…and then I woke up.  Strange, strange dream.

The Awful Tragedy of Lady Virginia of Jones…A Play in Ongoing Acts of Depression

I had a really long entry I had wanted to post, but because it is Christmas break, Psychobrat doesn’t have to be up early in the mornings, so she feels perfectly legitimate in taking my designated computer time late at night, when I used to be the only one awake.  Is this just?  No, of course not.  So I’ve been sitting here for the last 3 hours, waiting for her to get off of it, and trying to keep myself awake.  She finally got off of it at 3:45…about half an hour after I usually am.  Then she doesn’t have the decency to come and let me know, even though I’ve asked her a couple of times over these past three hours.

Last night, all hell broke loose in my house once again.  Brother was in Sister’s room, playing on her Playstation…she was at the computer…my parents and I were watching Christmas movies out here in the living room.  I was also cooking this TV dinner thing, and a little while after I ate it (I’m not certain if Brother went into the kitchen or not during this time), my dad went into the kitchen for something.  Suddenly, he said, “Uhhh…” loudly, in the sarcastic tone he uses to make it seem like he isn’t the asshole because it’s your fault and now he’s going to behave like an asshole and shame someone.

Mom, recognizing the same time, immediately muted the television.  The time for peace and quiet was over and we would no longer be allowed to finish our movie.

We both looked over.  The freezer was open just a crack.

I immediately knew three things—that we have been having problems with too much stuff in the freezer keeping the door from shutting all the way…that it was not my fault, because I already had known this and so have been taking extra care not to walk away from the freezer door unless absolutely certain it was closed…and that I would not be able to convince anyone of my innocence in the matter.

He said, in the same idiotic sarcastic tone, “Uhhh…Ginny?  Come here,” and I said, “No, I see it from here.”  He just looked at me, feigning not to have heard me, so I repeated, “I can see it from here.”

He said, “Do you see what the problem is here?”

“Yeah, I see,” I said.  “The freezer door isn’t shut all the way.”

Not “somebody left it open” or “I left it open”…no, I was going to make him spell it out, in order to play my cards right and buy as much of an innocent front as I could. If I appeared to not understand what he was actually getting at, it would seem it really was not my fault.  (Maybe this is part of the reason he’s always saying I have mental problems…because I have to feign it so often with him.)

He said, “Weren’t you using this a little while ago?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I was, but I made sure it was closed when I was finished.”

He gave that impatient sigh that he gives when he is ready to display his anger at the most ideal moment so that it seems as though his growing angry is somehow your fault.  I remained outwardly calm.  He said, his voice just dripping with the sarcasm now—the stage where he wishes to make it appear that he is trying to keep his cool, but you are just driving him further and further from it—“Ginny…somebody left the freezer door open.  Were you not making a TV dinner a little while ago?”

“I was,” I said, “but I closed the door when I was finished.”

He sighed again, more heavily this time.  “Who else has been using the freezer tonight?  As far as I know, you were the last one to use it.”

“I don’t know; someone else might have used it,” I said.  “I didn’t leave it open.  I know we’ve been having problems with it, so I’ve been taking extra care to close it when I’m done with it.”

That was what I tried to say. I only got about as far as “extra care” before he interrupted and said, “I’m not trying to start an argument here!  I’m just trying to point out that this is a problem, and I don’t understand why nobody notices these things except for me!”

“Nobody else has been in there until just now,” I pointed out.

He sighed.  “That is not the point,” he said, his voice growing angrier by the second.  “The point is that nobody notices these things—it’s always me—and we’re having a problem with the freezer, and somebody just walked away and left it open!  And you’re saying it wasn’t you, but I don’t know who else it could have been, unless your brother came in here at some point and opened it.”

“Wasn’t me,” I said.

He sighed and started arguing with my mom.  I sat staring straight ahead until finally he walked into his room for a moment, and then I headed straight to mine and sat down on the floor, listening to the storm erupt.  My dad was yelling the usual at my mom, things like, “I think I have a right to be angry when something like this happens!  But I’m always the bad guy.  Always!  Because you just sit there and don’t show any emotion at all!”

Of course Mom doesn’t show emotion.  He’ll turn it into a weapon.  She knows better.

As is inevitable in the middle of one of these, because everyone knows it pisses him off even more…the phone rang.  What’s even better is that it was Brown Mucus.  This is when Psychobrat joined in the conversation.  She said, “Oh, it’s…that girl who’s always calling for Ginny that we don’t answer the phone to.”

There was a short silence…the phone was still ringing…and my dad said, “Just let it ring, then.”

When it was finished, and she didn’t leave a message, he said, “She talks to me.  I don’t understand why it is that I can have perfectly normal conversations with other people…I go out of the house, to the library or somewhere, and people just seem to want to come to me with their problems, people enjoy talking to me…and I come back here, and I’m an asshole again because I’m angry.”

My mom said, “You are angry 24/7!”

He said, “Yeah.  And nobody understands why I get that way, do they?”

Routine, routine.  It goes in circles, and people say they don’t understand why he gets that way, and he blames it on everyone else…his anger is never his fault.  It isn’t his fault that he is always angry.  No; that’s always our faults.  We failed as a family to keep him from yelling at us once again.

But then Psychobrat piped up, “I do!

He said, “You do?  Why do you understand?”

She said, “Because I’m exactly the same way!”

On they went, discussing why “getting angry” is natural and it relieves stress, and they were right to be the way they were, and there’s something wrong with people who don’t let their anger out at their families 24/7, and they kept on going and going, and my mom wasn’t saying anything…it was as though they had staged the conversation!  That’s really what it sounded like.  Add that to the fact that I’d been trying to solve the freezer mystery (which sounded a lot like the Bisquick one, if you think about it)…and the two were so similar that I could actually believe my dad had walked in there and opened the freezer a crack when no one was looking, just so he could yell at me.

Anyway, Psychobrat started talking about the other day with her clothes, and a couple days after that, both those occasions when Milo went and told her to stop yelling at us and bothering us because it was her problem and not ours, so my dad was saying, “Yeah, and I don’t understand those sorts of people!  How can you tell someone not to let their anger out!?  It’s just like your sisters,” nodding to my mom, bringing up her side of the family again, one of his favorite subjects when he’s trying to make us feel like shit.

Around about this point, I had another panic attack.

It made my second one in a week.  I was shaking uncontrollably.  They seem kind of like seizures, almost.  I feel like there may be something in my subconscious that triggers them, as a way to sort of relieve stress…a momentary loss of all control…so while it’s like I’m deliberately causing it (although I’m not sure of that)…it’s like I can’t prevent it because they are an outlet to release the stress, and if I want that brief loss of control, it’s going to happen.  I don’t know, I’m not a psychiatrist…I have no idea if that’s what they’re from.  But anyway, I climbed under the covers in my bed, not adjusting them, just sort of…slithering under there…and just laid there, shaking, almost blacking out because my head was shaking so much…it lasted several minutes, just lying there shaking, like I was cold (even though, like last time, I did start to get hot under the covers)…and then it just abruptly stopped.  All of a sudden—just…stopped.  No more teeth chattering, no more shaking…nothing.  And the whole time, my family was out in the living room, yelling at each other, with no idea of what was going on in there.  I didn’t tell them, either.  Nobody except Brother and my mom even know about the one earlier in the week.

So I called Katie and told her.  I wasn’t going to go out of my room where people were yelling about me and how incompetent, disrespectful, and worthless I am.  I heard my dad bring up the Christmas lights again…the ones on the outside of the house…apparently, they were turned off the other night, and he hadn’t done it, so he was yelling at us for not having noticed it.  He didn’t understand why he was the one who always found these things, and why everyone else is so oblivious…and Sister piped in that she hadn’t been home to find it.

Then he mentioned another occasion a few days ago, when he came home to find the thermostat set to something called emergency heat, which apparently drives the bill way up.  He was yelling that no one noticed that except him, either.  By this point, Brother had come out of his room, so now all four of them were out there, and each of them denied having set it that way, so my dad said, “That leaves two people…and I know if I ask one of them, I’m just going to get an attitude about it.  And Milo’s not here, so….”

I wonder if they realize how well I can hear them from inside my room with the door shut.

Explaining all this to Katie, we were joking about how he expects us to go looking for problems.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think to walk out the front door in the cold to make sure that the lights were still on.  I didn’t think to go and look at the thermostat to make sure it wasn’t set to emergency heat, which I didn’t even know existed.  I’m sorry I didn’t think to walk into the kitchen and make sure the freezer door was shut.  I’m sorry that it is impossible to search the entire house for every single problem….”

Well…on a new subject.  Went to some friends’ house tonight.  Jenna, Kara, her boyfriend Chad, Milo, and I were all there, sitting around the living room and talking.  At some point, Milo mentioned somebody (I was half asleep by this point), and Kara said, “Oh, is that that girl that I met, one of those ones that you like?”  (I immediately awoke again.)  “Yeah, Moe…Moe is cool,” he said.  “She’s also the only one who ever has time to hang out.”

So, now I know for a fact—he does like her.  She probably likes him back; she certainly calls him enough.  They talk on the phone a lot, and he’s always saying, “Moe this” and “Moe that”, and they hang out all the time.  And Kara said, “One of the girls you like”!  So that also tells me there are others…probably Heather.  I don’t know who else, if there’s anymore than that.  “One of them” implies two at the least.

Okay…I’m tired of this.  I’m going to bed.

“Serenity now…insanity later.”

First of all…I told Milo I’d go to the movie with him whenever he had a chance to go, since he didn’t get to go with us last night…and then this morning he gets up before me and just goes!  He’s either with his sister or Moe, I don’t know which one.

I go into the kitchen to find something to eat, and I want this frozen meat pie thing, and Psychobrat grabs it out of my hand, says, “THAT’S MINE!” and starts yelling at me about how I have no respect for her or anyone else in our family, so I’m just saying stuff like, “Mm,” and “Okay”…little fillers just to give the impression that I’m listening.

So finally I say, “Do you realize you’re exactly like Dad?”  She said, “Yeah, I do!” and I said, “And that makes you happy?”  She said, “I’d rather be like Dad than be like you.”  I said, “Yeah.  That’s intelligent.”  She said, “At least when I move out on my own, I’ll be able to take care of myself.”

I said, “And I won’t?”

“No, you won’t,” she said.  “You don’t know how to take care of yourself.  You never do anything around the house.”

“Okay,” I said.

“You don’t,” she said, “I do everything to clean up!”

I said, “You get paid to clean up.”

She said, “Well at least I do something!  You don’t clean anything unless Milo is or Mom is!  Milo even said so.”

This is where she finally struck a chord.  I can see where she might have had a similar conversation with Milo the other day when they were arguing.  Because anytime he or my mom starts cleaning, I always jump in to help them.  He might have said that to Psychobrat.  And if he actually said that that’s the only time I ever do anything, then that means her manipulation really is working.

So she started ranting, giving me that whole speech she gave me every day when we were growing up in Virginia, the one about how I’m worthless and she’s so much better and prettier than me, and no one likes me and I don’t deserve to live, yada yada yada…the same damned speech that almost led me to suicide after hearing it every day for several years…the same one she tells my family, with the guise of innocence, that she has no memory of and which I am obviously making up.  We had this argument that night a year or so ago when my dad called a “family meeting” to shame Brother and me for not being able to get along with her.  I was shouting at her, trying to make everyone believe this had actually taken place every day for years, but she was so calm and convincing that I was making everything up, or hallucinating, or something…I could tell they didn’t believe me.  Anyway.  That speech.  She gave it to me today.

I’m getting sick again.  I can’t take this.  I can’t take it!

ETA:  A little while after the events of the morning, the doorbell rang and it was Psychobrat’s ride to work.  She was in the bathroom at the time, so she yelled at one of us to open the door, and we didn’t do anything.  So she came out of the bathroom and yelled, “I TOLD YOU TO OPEN THE DOOR!”

I said, calmly and quietly, “I’m sorry; we don’t have any respect for you.”  Because if that’s going to be her mantra, we may as well make it true, right?

As they were walking out the door, Brother called to the ride, “Be careful; she’s feeling really mean today!”

Oh, and one more thing–I was expecting to get more money off my psych book than any others, and I got $5.  That’s it.

It hasn’t been a very good day.