A Stressful Day with a Pleasant Ending

Brother went to court this morning, but they told him to come back at a later date.  Until then, he’s under house arrest.  They’re going to be calling here randomly every day to make sure he’s actually here, which means we have to be psychotic about answering the phone immediately when it rings.

Good old Psychobrat expressed her wish that he receive the harshest punishment they can contrive.

Everyone (except Psychobrat), obviously, is under a lot of stress.  Therefore, I didn’t get pissed off when my dad told me to move my car today.

See, we have only so much room in our driveway.  There’s the old blue van which we will never drive and never sell; it exists now solely to take up space in our driveway.  There’s my mom’s van, my dad’s car, Psychobrat’s car, and mine.  For certain reasons, namely:  1) I don’t want to get blocked in by Psychobrat’s car and not be able to go to work; 2) I’m the last one to leave every day and don’t want to block anyone else in, and 3) there simply isn’t room…I park on the street.  This is against the rules of the neighborhood Association.  My dad said today that he didn’t want to get a ticket or have a car towed, so I’d better move it into the driveway.

When I came back inside, completely calmly and rationally (it was, too, because I wasn’t pissed off at all–that was all him), I asked him if maybe he could tell Psychobrat to park her car on the road, since she’s the first one to leave every morning, and that just makes sense.

He snapped sarcastically back, “Yeah, you can’t talk to your sister, can you?”  What he meant by this, spoken in the nasty, evil tone that he used, was that all of the problems between her and me going back almost two decades are a result of my incompetence, and that she, the evil one, is completely blameless.  I know this is what he meant by it, because this is what he always means.  For some reason, my father favors my evil brat sister.

But today, I chose to play dumb, like I didn’t know he was giving me all credit for the rift.  I said, “No, I can’t.”

He said, “Yeah.  That’s part of the problem, isn’t it.”

“Yeah, it is.”

He’s just like Psychobrat.  He can never allow anyone the last word, so it gets ridiculous sometimes.

“Yeah.  That’s always been part of the problem, hasnt it.”

“Yeah, it has.”

“Yeah.  That’s always been a big part of the problem, hasn’t it.”

It was time to clarify that I was playing dumb, that I thought he was putting the blame on her.  “Yeah–nobody can talk to her,” I said casually, stalking out of the room as he chuckled, “That isn’t true,” in the same nasty voice, as though I am the only one who can’t talk to Psychobrat.

I went into my room and cried silent tears for several minutes.  I’m under stress, too, and the last thing I needed was to be reminded that he likes her better than me and always has and probably always will.

When he finally went back to work, I emerged from my room, saw Brother sitting in the living room, and started bitching at him about how it just wasn’t fair, why should he favor Psychobrat, yada yada yada, and Brother, the one who should be under more stress than anyone, calmly told me that that isn’t true (it is; even Mom has confirmed that when I flat-out asked her; but how sweet of him to try and tell me otherwise) and that it wasn’t all that bad.  I love my brother to pieces, even when he’s been totally stupid.

Then I got the story out of him.  He wore the same jeans two days in a row, and the second day (yesterday) forgot that his pocket knife was still in them from the previous afternoon.  Not wanting to be caught at school with it, he took it out and hid it under the bus seat to be retrieved after school.  Unfortunately, a few kids saw this and snitched, which led to a search of his locker.  Another knife was found in his locker, because it was part of his Boy Scouts stuff, and all of that was together in a backpack in the locker.  The marijuana pipe does not belong to him, but because he was stupid enough to allow dozens of untrustworthy people access to his locker combination, he has no idea whose it is.

Then he told me that Psychobrat has decided to leave MarioKart at Spidermonkey’s until I apologize for calling her Psychobrat.  That’s a lot of bullshit, first of all, because she was planning to leave it there anyway.  And second, why would she tell him this, not me?

But it doesn’t matter, because I’ve decided to just buy my own.  Then she can’t get it.

We had steak night at work today.  Normally this doesn’t really bother me, but as I was already in a pissy mood today, it kind of stressed me out more.  Steak night always draws larger crowds.

While I was at work, however, The Mormon left roses, black licorice, and a card for me at my front door.  Then he came over for like two hours to be with me and just make sure I was feeling better.  He’s so completely fantastic.


Jail and Jealousy

Bad news today, I’m afraid.

My totally awesome little brother whom I love was arrested after a knife and a marijuana pipe were retrieved from his locker.  He’s going to court tomorrow at 10:00.  Fun stuff, eh?  I don’t like this phase that he’s in.

Here’s something else noteworthy:  Milo is jealous of The Mormon.  How freaking great is that?  I told Michelle, Adrianna, and Dennis today, and while the girls laughed, Dennis high-fived me and said, “Way to go, Ginny, finally; it’s only been, what, two years now?”

“Five,” I corrected him.

“Even better!”

I fully intend to confront him about it.  I’ve been waiting to do it since I found out, but he has been conveniently unavailable.

Signs and Omens

I just called Ryan.

What was I thinking!?  Of course he still has a girlfriend!

Well, at least it didn’t really feel awkward.  I mean, I did half expect that response, so I was set for it, and he’s such an easygoing guy.

Here’s how it went:

He actually answered, first of all, which I didn’t expect.  He was always really difficult to get hold of by phone.

I said, “Hey, this is Ginny…from the cafeteria.”

“Hey, what’s up?”  It was a surprised, friendly sort of tone.  Not a “OMG, why are you calling me!?” sort.

I said I still had his number on my phone, so I figured I would call to see what was up.  I then asked him how he was doing (good, but very busy) and he asked how I was doing (also good, not so busy) and then he said, “My phone broke yesterday, so I actually had no idea who was calling.”

I said, “My car broke yesterday.”

He sort of laughed and said, “Well, I guess you win!”

I laughed, too, then said, “I was wondering if you’d wanna get together sometime, hang out again.”

And then he said, “Oh…I actually have a girlfriend now.”

I thought, DAMN IT!  Then I said, as though I was completely surprised and had had no idea in the world, “Oh…I’m sorry!”

“No, it’s okay.  We can still hang out if you want to, catch a movie or something.”

“As friends, of course,” I had to throw in, to show that I understood.

“Yeah, give me a call and we’ll set something up,” he said.  “I’m about to go into class, though.”

So, should I do it?  I said I would.  He is a great guy; I certainly don’t mind being friends with him.  But should I?  Would that be weird?  Because we were never friends before; we just went on a date last year.  So it wouldn’t be like going back to how it used to be before a hiatus—because there is no “how it used to be”.

In other news, yesterday I walked into my room and happened to glance at the clock—it was 3:34.  This sounds completely normal, I realize, but it wasn’t.  See, the last three times I had stepped into my room before leaving work and happened to glance at the clock, it was 3:33.  Three times in a row this happened.  I mean, that’s a strange number to just happen upon, if you think about it, because of all the times it could show, there are only ten chances each day for it to read three digits exactly the same.  (Twelve if you want to count 11:11.)  Twelve minutes out of twenty-four hours.

Anyway, so being as how I would have had to wait eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes for it to actually say “3:33” again, and I’d been only one minute too late…I somehow took this as a bad omen.  I said so to myself.  It’s because I need things to be even.  It’s that OCD coming through.  I felt off and had no way to fix it because I had missed the same time I’d happened across those past three times by one minute.  Does this make any sense at all?

So I’m heading out of my room, thinking, “Bad omen….”  Or a sign, or something.  And what good are signs if you don’t know how to read them?  And of course, the only thing I can think is that something bad was going to happen on my way to work, like my car breaking down.

And then I got a flat tire.  I’m not really superstitious, though, about most things, so I am merely pointing this out as a very strange coincidence, and a possible example of my occasional clairvoyance.

The prof had me read my “Richard Cory” paper aloud to the class today, because he was so impressed with it.  In fact, the other day when he was reading it during our little one-on-one time, he read the thesis…stopped…and went back to read it again, before saying, “Wow…that is a really good thesis.  Did you really write that?”

“No, I bought it online,” I said.

“Wow, how much did you pay for that?”


“For a thesis that good, I’d have paid $29.99.”

I think I now have the highest grade in both my creative writing and English classes.  Kick arse.

Anyway, got work now, and as I missed it yesterday and am leaving early today, it’d be good to be on time.

Man Issues Ahoy

Milo is moving out in about a week.  I still stand by what I said before—I’m happy for him, it’s going to be very convenient (for him) and all that.  But it is upsetting.  I knew this day would eventually come, but still.  It’s going to feel awfully lonesome around here.  Not much chance of seeing him at all once he’s practically next-door to his girlfriend.

I had a date with a really nice guy last night.  Ryan.  We had a lot of fun.  At one point he even stole my line:  “This reminds me of that one episode of Seinfeld.”  Heh.  And he taught me how to use chopsticks!  I finally understand!  He’s moving away soon, though, at least for the summer.  To Illinois.  I’m not likely to see him anymore.

I told Milo tonight that we had gotten our movie tickets, and by the way he reacted (I know his reactions; he doesn’t have to say anything for me to know exactly what he’s thinking), I knew he was wishing we’d asked him to come and get his at the same time.  (I actually knew that when I found out we were going to pick them up.)  And I feel bad because there’s one of those things where it’s me pushing him away by intentionally not asking, so he’s going to go and do it with his girlfriend instead.  But I had to avoid the impossible situation of asking him to come and telling him, “I’m sorry; you can’t invite your girlfriend.”  It’s either hang with him and his girlfriend, or just let them be alone together.  I don’t like it either way (anything that involves him and a girlfriend of any sort just sucks), but what can I do?  I don’t want to watch it.

Anyway…that’s that.

Happy New Year!

Let’s talk about last night.

Psychobrat was planning to spend the night at a friend’s house and then go shopping today for Spidermonkey’s Christmas present (he’s been out of town).  At 8, she came out of her room demanding that my mom take her to the bank so that she can cash her check.  She had some money already, but her reasoning was that, even though she didn’t intend to spend her entire check on Spidermonkey, and even though she still intended to save some of it and not spend it all on herself, either, she has to have all of her money together, with her, so that she knows how much she has and how much she can spend.  She can’t do it on a sheet of paper.

My mom didn’t want to go to the bank, so Psychobrat started screeching.

My dad heard the mating call of the yellow-bellied sapsucker and came out of his room to investigate.  He immediately sided with Psychobrat, saying that even if my mom didn’t want to go to the bank, she could at least give Psychobrat all of her money.  So he started fishing in his pockets and then told my mom to go to her purse and take out everything she had until, together, they had $140 for Psychobrat.  Psychobrat went into her room, complaining that they had only given her $90 so far.  She emerged a bit later, and Mom had decided she’d rather just go to the bank.  Psychobrat gave all the money back and Mom went to the bank to cash her check.

The only time I bothered to make any comment at all through all of this was when I said, “It’s not good to carry that much money around with you at one time, anyway.”  Dad immediately turned around and looked at me and said, “It’s HER money; she can do whatever she likes with it!  GOD, Ginny!  What do you think she’s going to do, lose it!?”  So I just kept my mouth shut for the rest of that shit-show.

Milo walked in the door right after all of this.  We were supposed to hang out and get a little tipsy.  I went to tell him what was going on and asked if he wanted to go for a walk.

He said, “Uhh…no…I was kind of planning to go to Moe’s.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.  I said, “Oh…well, okay, then.  Have fun.”

I went to my room and started getting a headache.  I came out to grab some cold water and Tylenol to make myself feel better.  That didn’t work out.

The first thing I saw when I walked out of my room was the dog peeing on the carpet.  I immediately started yelling, “FALKOR!  YOU STUPID DOG!”

My dad came out of their room and yelled, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT HERE!?”  So I yelled back, “HE JUST PEED ON THE CARPET!”

My dad laughed.

He looked at my mom, who had just come out of their room, also, and said, “You see now why I don’t want to get a new carpet?”  He says this all the time, as though we don’t know.  And then he started yelling about the carpet like it’s news, and he said to me, “And you don’t understand why I get this way…” as though he pities me for being so stupid.  (Hahaha, you stupid girl, you don’t know what angry is.)


He laughed, and then he paused.  The question had actually stumped him–only for a second, but he was at a loss for words.  That never happens.  I took that second before he immediately started yelling something again at my mom to go into my room, grab my coat, and walk out the front door.

I walked around the neighborhood for an hour and 15 minutes before my mom found me in the car.  But I insisted that I did not wish to go back to the house yet, so she finally went back home.  My goal was to stay out until after midnight, to make some sort of point, although I don’t know what it was.  It was 10:00 when I set out, which meant I’d have to walk around with a headache for two hours.  I was so freaking tired.  And when I only had five minutes left, I thought, ‘Wow, I can’t believe I made it!’

That instant, I felt like I was going to throw up.

I didn’t want to throw up on the street, so I decided to head home immediately.  And after all that…all the times I told myself I could just keep going, just another 45 minutes…just one more half-hour…I walked in the door at exactly 11:59.  What a fucking waste.

I didn’t throw up, but as I thought I’d be sick if I moved, I just went to bed.  And that was my New Year’s.

The worst part of all was that I had so wanted to get drunk…and I slept through the champagne.  I didn’t even have a glass of wine earlier because I was waiting on the damned champagne.

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 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.