If I'm quiet enough they may all forget I'm here.
I suppose I should start by saying that my Aunt Tilly is in town, leaving my tolerance for dumbasses at an all time low.
Da Man headed north this morning for his third friggin' trip to the VA this week. Yeah, gotta love that 132 mile trip in an old V8. I was going to head up there with him today because they're doing a nerve and muscle test (I'm thinking it's an ENG/EMG or something or that with the tiny little needles), but, after rereading the letter the sent I decided that there was no sense in babysitting him and two girls at the VA medical center. The two girls are enough within themselves. And the other reason I didn't go is because I'm mad at him.
I'm pretty mad at everyone actually.
Maybe it's Aunt Tilly. Or maybe my dissatisfaction with myself is spilling over into every other person in this little world of mine. But whatever the reason, I'm mean.
And I find myself detaching at strange times. Take, for instance, the fact that I caught myself staring right over the neighbor friend's head last night as she was babbling on and on about something or other that had to do with crafts for Halloween. I don't know where I was, but I wasn't in the backyard at that precise moment in time.
I have been catching myself watching peoples' lips move lately. Quite possibly it's my feeling of burnout. And besides the girl and the stress of living with the PTSD King, what exactly do I have to be burned out on? I don't know.
But I'm mean.
Being mean has its advantages. For instance, I can pretty much avoid any type of idle chitchat or unnecessary conversation with the people I live with because they simply don't want to deal with the backlash that comes after the smallest of comments.
I'm pretty sure Aunt Tilly has something to do with it.
Besides two cracks I made at the other parent at school the other day, my family is the only person who has to deal with the wrath. And the significance of that doesn't escape me either. I can go to school and hang out with 17 three and four year old children and not once lose my patience or grace, but as soon as my feet touch the threshold of my own house, I'm mean.
I guess it doesn't take a shrink to figure that out, does it? 
Can it be possible that I have reached my limit? Maybe. I have been thinking about spending $30 and allowing someone else the privilege of watching my children for three hours one Friday night so I can go and do whatever I want to do. A novel idea, a babysitter, eh.
I need a release. I was invited to gig with the old band last weekend, but life got in the way. And I don't know if that's the release I need or not. Granted, getting back on stage turns me right the fuck on, but I don't know if hanging in the bars with the people from my past would do much for me right now except spell trouble.
*sigh*
And how did I get here? It's Aunt Tilly. She always puts her two cents in where it doesn't belong. She brings the backache and the headache. She brings the stinkin' thinkin' and the doubting. She brings the lack of concentration and mood swings that would have sunk the Titanic.
I will be glad when she moves on.