My mom has been calling quite a lot. Finally, I just got fed up with this little game of Dodge the Crazy Bitch and told her to "get a clue and stop calling me". One part of me wants to, I don't know, write a letter and tell her all the reasons she can fuck her hat and the other part of me wants to leave her to think whatever she wants. The factors driving me toward the former are two-fold. One, my own closure. I'm holding all this in and let me tell you, I cry. I cry a lot. At least once daily, I burst into tears for no discernible reason and poor Sean is suffering the brunt of my mood swings. The second reason is that I know she's sitting at home, blaming it all on me. I can only imagine the things she says to other people in her life, considering what she's told Shannon (that my fight with Sean when I called to talk was "what I get", for example).

As far as my father, I haven't heard from him, though that isn't surprising in the least. Sean has "forbidden" me from going over there anyway, because he's been around for a lot of that bullshit. I think he's taking some responsibility for how I feel when I get home, because he's been my mode of transportation to most of these awkward clusterfuck dinners. Still, a part of me would like to tell him where to go as well, because I'm fairly certain he remains oblivious to his status on my shit list.

To top it all off, my period has been notably absent (crossing my fingers hard for a stress-related explanation) and my boobs feel like they're so inflated that they're going to explode on my chest. Also sick every day and the aforementioned crying jags. Please, please, please God, I can't have a behbeh right now (ever?). WebMD assures me, however, that it's probably just aseptic meningitis, so that's cool.