Mom called last night and asked if I was ready to come home, seeing as how I'm not actually doing anything down here except watching tv and playing on the internet. The Old Man is on his last days, Mom said that it's like every slip of breath could be his last. My step-father is doing much better and should be ready to go back to work sometime soon (I hope).

I quit smoking. Yay, me. That's an extra $50 a week and more than enough to afford satellite and DSL out at the trailer, when Dad goes back to work (or sooner if I really get cranky). So, I'll see you again, sooner or later!

The old man is heading towards violence. Firstly, he threatened to go and get a shotgun then he reared back with a coffee cup. He paused and I told him, "That's not funny."

He replied, "It will be when it hits you."

I turned around and stormed out of the house.

My grandmother played it off like he's trying to joke with me, but she wasn't there to see the anger in his eyes.

My sister doesn't want to put him in a nursing home (as she works in the only one that will take him) but I'm not seeing many other options. My uncle and grandmother think that I'm going to stay here as he slides more and more down hill, but the more he curses at me and threatens me the more I wonder how long it will take to pack my bags and get my mother down here.

Good news, I earned fifty bucks and some quality time with my grandmother (Quality time with her? Who da thunkit?). Bad news, I caught a nasty ass cold doing it. My grandmother, as I've said before, works at a flower shop and with four local proms and mother's day looming, she needed some help. Basically, I was the shop bitch. Running to and fro, helping customers, grabbing orders, and helping bag corsages and boutonnieres. She wants me to call her on Thursday, to see if she'll need me again, and I'll do it, because mama needs a new pair of stompy boots.

There's nothing like a day of celebrating Christ rising from the dead or fertility, depending on what religion you believe came up with the holiday first.

So my day was spent with the family, eating ham and hiding Easter eggs for the younger kiddies. My cousin, I'll call him L, was a riot. He was convinced to take the flowery basket and skip around in the yard. He's thirteen or so and knows that this will come back and bite him. His father dubbed him 'Sensitive'.

As we were getting ready to leave, my youngest cousin was hiding her eggs for my sister (who is still in Tennessee!) and I to find. She was upset when we told her we had to leave. But it was the whining, foot stomping upset because she wasn't getting her way.

There was no sign of Master Cousin, he must have been working... or something. Whatever.

Hope you had a good day!

Does your computer have a gender? Okay, go ahead and roll your eyes, but read me out. My computer is commonly referred to as a S.O.B. or little bastard, especially when he freezes or decides he doesn't want to connect me to the internet (my modem is also a male). Some people even name their computers. Why do we do this? Is it because we feel the need to, the same way we name pets, and tell people those names, in spite of the fact that they only respond to 'kitty, kitty' or 'baby'? Or maybe it's because we've become so insular that we are now talking to our machine? You decide, I may be reading too deeply.