02/16/2012

Tuesday probably merits writing about.

I forgot it was Valentine’s day until after I’d gotten to school, and aside from having some chocolate, it didn’t really matter.

I had dinner at my parents’ house, which was all right.  I had diet Moon Mist, which is pretty much the nectar of the gods.

At 5:30, my mom got a phone call from her brother (who lives in Las Vegas) informing her that my aunt (who lives about 5 minutes away from my mom) was in the hospital.  Because she blew up her apartment.  Blew it right the fuck up.  She was smoking a cigarette while using oxygen—fucking brain trust, that one.  The apartment was a total loss, and 2 of my aunt’s 3 cats died—one in the fire, and one a day later, from smoke inhalation.

My aunt was transported to a burn unit a couple of hundred miles away for treatment, which is going to include, as far as I know, amputation of at least one leg and quite possibly both.

I got home Tuesday night at 10, after being at school since 8 AM—I made it to my night class about half an hour late, how studious of me—and my sister’s idiot fiancée had done just about nothing, as usual, in the 10 hours he’d been home by himself.  I started doing the dishes, but there were too many in the dish drainer and so this one cup kept falling back into the sink, which inspired in me homicidal rage.  I said, “that’s it, I’m done,” and my sister’s idiot fiancé threw a fucking cookie sheet at me, screaming, “FINE!  THEN GO!”  At which point I told him he was a “lazy fucking douchebag” and “I fucking hate you,” and “my sister is marrying you and I don’t fucking know why.”

The cookie sheet hit me in the elbow, and left a nice bruise.  I am so unimpressed.

I haven’t apologized for what I said, and he hasn’t apologized for what he did.  I’m not sorry for what I said, though, is the thing.  I hate him so much, I loathe every second I’m around him.  He IS a lazy douchebag, and I don’t know why my sister is marrying him. 

At least she said that if he ever throws anything at me again, she’ll leave him.  But I’m sick of giving him second chances.  I just wish she’d dump him and he could go live with his parents or something.  He’s such a fucking child, he needs his mother to look after him.

I don’t think I’d be too broken up if he just died.

The thing that really upsets me, though, is the cats that died.  Maybe that makes me a horrible person.  I feel like a pretty horrible person for a variety of reasons, so I suppose it doesn’t matter if I just throw one more on top of it all.

My aunt still might die.  Her doctor put her odds of survival at an oddly-specific 29%.