9:30 pm - August 08, 2004
A time for rememberence, and a time to throw chairs
Well, to quote one of my favourite authors, today, while starting out quite nicely, has evolved into "a puddle of suck." Long story short, perpetually-in-trouble-but-outwardly-successful cousin has hornswoggled G-ma into co-signing on a major loan. With 30% interest. Now, this is not news to me, I was aware of it at the time, last fall. However the poo has hit the fan, with an impending divorce and other random dramas, and things look to be collapsing like a playing-card castle.

I'm worried that with the new happenings, that I might have to drop school for the fall, put off the degree for that much longer, and go get a real grown-up job that pays real money on time. She's helped me out so much, letting me move here with her in my early angst-ridden youthful times, that I will not let her shoulder this alone.

I've been calming useless family members right and left, but inside I feel like a little kid, unable to deal with this. Despite all the things we've been through, I suppose I still see myself as a child, evidence to the contrary notwithstanding. This is the woman who took me in when I was homeless and sleeping in parks. She gave me my own room and put up with my early "checking the refrigerator just to look at the food inside, to make sure it's really there" at odd times during the day and night. She helped me get out of a bad abusive relationship, and then she pushed me to get out of my depression when there were days I couldn't even get out of bed.

I am so lucky to have gotten to know her on levels that most grandchildren never get. I was there when she was diagnosed with lymphoma. I learned to cook things that might appeal when she was going through the rounds of chemo, which she tried to eat (some of the early attempts were pretty bad) out of kindness and not wanting to hurt my feelings. I bought her hats when her hair fell out and she was embarrassed to leave the house. When she broke her hip, I bathed her and helped her to the bathroom for months until she could do it herself. I tortured her evilly by making her keep up with the exercises from the rehab hospital, and even inventing some myself (I'm such a sadist.) She's confided in me that she hates her name and would like me to name my future daughter Grace, after the name she wished she'd had. (She's also made me promise that I'd never name a child after her real name, the teasing she endured while young seems to have scarred her...)

So that's that, and we shall see what we shall see, and what will be, will be. And I've run out of trite sayings for now. To admit honestly, though, I dread having to drop school again. I'm too old to perpetually be a Junior. I need to graduate, if only to see my parents proud of me for a few minutes. Anyway. We'll deal with what comes. (sorry, had to sneak that last one in)

Now if I could just weed these Jerry-Springer-extras out of my family....

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