Tucked up in bed. I should be done with the gunk in my head soon, thankfully. Not eating much yet this morning, either. I think it's a day to take it easy, then work on corsets.
Oh, and did I mention? Haven't spoken to my mother in a week and a half. Sigh. I'm partly angry, but for the most part, I'm taking care of myself. I'm not a punching bag, and I have enough of my own problems at the moment. My mom's never been one to differentiate between general anger, and anger at other people. If she's angry, she takes it out on any- and everyone. That's the last thing I need right now.
My sister's birthday is Monday. I suppose I should box up her gift. Not like she's gotten me anything, though.
Wow. You know, the more I look at it dispassionately, the more I realise how completely unsupportive my nuclear family is. I'm absolutely the odd-woman-out, and I've always known that, but...well. I grew up like everyone else, with the Disney idea of family in my head, no matter what evidence I had to the contrary. Trying to have a talk about thoughts and feelings with them is an exercise in futility. My mother, for example, lent me a book-- a speculative historical about one of the daughters of Sir Thomas More. I have no idea why she liked it. She seems to like historical novels, but I don't know what she sees in them.
Well, perhaps I'll ask. If we ever find ourselves on speaking terms again.
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