Had nuclear up here this weekend for a late St. Paddys. Nuclear meaning not my sister and her family. After hours of agonized soul-searching, I pretty much have arrived at a place wherein I must accept that the four of them give me anxiety. Off the charts. And when my mother is part of the equation, I'm rendered utterly miserable. I haven't told this to my mother in so many words, but I did tell her last week that they weren't invited. I don't take responsibility for the anxiety; it's my sister and how she occupies the world and this family. My mother magnifies it. In my family, birth order drama is Real.
Anyway, we had a fantabulous day, fantabulous food and drink and conversation.
We are trying to plan a trip to northern Oregon. D has decided it's been long enough and he needs to get up there to see his father's family. We've been awkwardly upset with them since my father died and they were thunderously quiet. No call, no text, no card, no flowers.
Send a card. Send flowers, if you can.
I cannot believe how good The Knick is!
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