Because I'm all about the dramatics

In any case, I'm feeling a little bit better now, thanks for asking, and I plan on taking a couple days off of work next week to hop on an airplane and get the hell out of Dodge and some quiet contemplation that doesn't involve sitting in a catatonic state on my couch or throwing people or things off my patio.

I'm still going to my mothers house every week. If there's anything positive about the experience, it's the fact that I can eat a home-cooked meal, switch on mental auto-pilot, not think for a while. A couple of months ago, her barrage of questions would have driven me crazy: "Would you like some watermelon? Why don't I cut up some pears for you? Would you like me to pack a lunch for you? You should move back home, what are you doing tomorrow?"

Now, I just sit at the dinner table, shoveling rice in my mouth. My sister sits at the table next to me, and I suddenly realize that she's now as overweight as I am. "You have pimples on your face. Are you stressed?"

That's the understatement of the century. "Yes," I reply.

"Oh. I'm going to call my boyfriend now."

I give her a look incredulously. "Since when did you have a boyfriend?" She shrugs it off. "Doug? I don't know, three years, I think." And with that, she leaves the room.

Jeezus, my mentally unstable sister can keep a relationship longer than I can.