more nothings

I was going to make my update in the same post as the previous one, but I figured this one probably deserves a post all its own.

There's good stuff and bad stuff in this one, so I'll put the good first. If you like leaving things on a happy note, then you can stop about halfway through. Don't worry, I'll warn you when it gets to the bad part.

Good stuff. I called DC yesterday afternoon and she actually answered the phone. She even mentioned that she was in the middle of an art project, and I offered to call later but she said it was fine. Anyway, I spit it out that we should hang out and we even procured plans for this coming Thursday.

I don't know if I've ever described DC in detail, other than just times when she's royally pissed me off (which is every other time I see her, in which case, I always take a long walk to allow myself to simmer) but one thing that marks her is the unfailing INABILITY to make or keep plans. She's better when she just refuses to make or agree on the plans, because at least then she can't stand me up-- but she has become increasingly better at giving accurate ETA's when the plans are first made (which, subsequently, have increased in the span of time from the zero hour of the plans in question) and arriving where she says she wants to meet on time.

This throws a new bolt into the cogs of all this. She knows as well as I do that all of this is really a test. She knows very well that she's almost entirely incapable of fulfilling plans. Half of me lies here already accepting the fact that Thursday's plans will most likely go up in smoke. The other half of me really wants her to come through-- not so much for my sake. I can hang out with her any night of the week. It's not for me hardly at all. Its as though I'm rooting for her to evolve a little here. The whole idea of hanging out in 'daylight' is to get to know each other as regular people, not as a couple of bar flies that constantly flirt. I guess more is weighing on this date than I realized.

Of course, she can't know that. Even though she does know what hangs in the balance, she can't know that I know. Even though she knows, probably, that I know...I can't confirm it, therefore parlaying what little mystery I have into an unattractive transparency.


Wow. That got out of hand. Anyway... now comes the bad part.

You know how you arrive to a point where saying what's in your heart is easy because everything else seems so pointless? How the words fixate together before you and flow out effortlessly? That's the way things are with DC right now, and I seem to be making progress.

But there's another side to it. Anyone who knows me knows that my sister is probably the most important woman in my life, next to my mother. I can prove this by pointing to the day that I canceled and rejected six fully qualified applicants to be my roommate when I lived in the Spruce Street house, and took my jobless sister in instead. Soon after, we had to move into a more affordable apartment, which she thanked me by throwing a TV off the balcony of said apartment one night in a drunken rage.

I can prove it because when I saw that she'd been hurt by an asshole who'd dated her for a couple of weeks, I threatened to punch him in the throat if he said one word about her. This was a guy who was surrounded by his friends and I was alone. He wasn't smaller than me, and his friends were not women. She thanked me by bringing this guy home to bed with her a few weeks later.

When we had to move everything out of THAT apartment after being evicted for HER outrageous behavior, I spent three days moving all of her stuff into a NEW place, which I found, using only my mom's SUV. She spent the day eating taco bell and hanging out with her puppy, Chase. (by the way, Chase is a person).

I can prove it because time after time of her storming off into senseless acts, getting drunk or calling into work because she's hungover (for almost a week once) I have never disclosed her actions to my mother or father. You might say that I am not a caring brother, but I truly don't believe it's my place to tattle on my sister. She's two years older than me, and should be accountable for herself.

She thanked me for this by holding a hand on her hip and with tears in her eyes, telling my father that I'm an alcoholic and that she's afraid of living with me.

She's thanked me for this by allying with my over-worrisome, paranoid mother and accusing me of being selfish, ungrateful, and even worse, of being lazy. I'll explain this one a little more. One week ago, she announced out of the blue that she was moving out. With rent due on the first, she hid behind a shield of parental favortism and GIRLED her way out of her problems. I could not have been more livid. Nevertheless, I collected myself and said, "Okay. But I am not helping you move your stuff this time. I'm not moving one box, not one piece of furniture."
"Fine" she said.

Earlier this evening, my mother convinced me to come along with them and just help with the big stuff. I'm not an asshole. I'm not going to let my sister and mom try to carry a 250 lb couch up the ramp of a U-Haul by themselves. After agreeing, my mother says that they're getting the truck at 8AM. Ouch. After visiting the doctor today and being diagnosed with Bronchitis, I sweetly asked her to let me sleep in and drive over a little later in the morning.

Then, my sister comes storming in and berates me, calling me lazy and selfish. Says that I OWE it to mother because she packed up all my shit while I was resting today. Apparently, none of the things in my room are included in this estimate, none of the things OUTSIDE of the room even BELONG to me, and a grand total of ONE box of my dishes accounted for an entire day's work. You're right, sis. Getting up at 7:30 in the morning while I'm fighting bronchitis, on my first day of antibiotics is totally fair. Moving all your shit for the third time in 7 months is fair.

I'm just glad there's an objective voice somewhere in all this...

Oh wait, there isn't. Just two batshit women who think I am the son of satan. The real challenge? How do I politely tell them (not so much my mother, who I'd be doing it for in a heartbeat, but my sister) that I will not be guilted into moving her crap under false accusations? Oh boy, what a ride. Fuckall, just fuck it all.