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I didn't get to see any fireworks. I'm not all that sad about it either. Let's see, Friday night we drove down to Nick's dad's house. Saturday we let the kids loose on the farm in their Power Wheels thing and started drinking at about eleven in the morning. I thought it would be a super idea to eat nothing (since, uh, Wednesday), so I got trashed. Super trashed. Dancing on the roof of my minivan with a couple of 17-year-olds to some Insane Clown Posse trashed. Sunday we came back up here, and yesterday my parents came over with enough food to feed an army and we, uh, ate it. And that was pretty much my weekend. This whole thing with DMIL has Nick saying that he's sick of all the bullshit around here and he wants to move. Finally! He wants to move down by his dad's house, which is in Central Illinois, about three hours from here. I'm not exactly opposed to it. I would probably end up working in a factory, because that is all there is down there, but even that wouldn't be so bad. I don't really know what my objection is, but something about it just doesn't feel right to me. The change of scenery would be really nice, though. I really can't stand it up here any more either. Oh yeah, my parents finally got a house! It's fully wheelchair accessible, too. Maybe now they can step out of the crazy for a minute or so. I would sure like that. I haven't seen it yet, but Nick has and he says it's pretty amazing and at least five steps up from their old house. It apparently has a waterfall in the front yard. Um, a waterfall? My parents? Can't picture it. It's got a hot tub too, but I don't think that'll see a lot of use. And if it does, I do not want to hear about it. Well, I guess I should do some laundry or something. Or, more likely, lie in bed reading a book until I fall asleep. Ugh. Fuck all that happy-sounding bullshit. I have so much to say but I don't know how. Fuck. I don't know. I'm fine and I'm so very not fine. I'm thrilled to bits and scared out of my mind. I've got it all under control except that I'm spinning out of control. I guess I feel lost, but that's so not the word for it. It's more than that. It's more than just work, or just Nick, or just the kids, or just my eating issues (or apparent lack thereof). It's everything. It's kind of like I don't even recognize myself anymore. I don't even think the kinds of thoughts that I normally would, I have these alien thoughts that make me stop and say, why would that pop into my head? Maybe before I was better at ignoring them. Or maybe they were quieter. I don't know. I just don't know. I feel like I don't really know anything. Kids are: Silence. My ears are ringing, though. Last person who pissed me off: I should just make this permanently say DMIL because she's talking so much shit about me now. Heard in my house: "I have hot poop on my butt!" Why does everything always have to be about poop? Miss Anything? pics - 2007-06-05
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