Sean, I'm glad things are looking up for S. I hope that things continue to improve as the year changes over.

I'm in a hotel room in Charleston, WV. My dad's in a room across the hall. I think the ride over from the Winston-Salem, NC, area was a bit much for him. He's cold and tired and doing his 82-year-old door-mouse imitation under the covers. Still, it's a hell of a lot better than driving him all the way up past Detroit, through sleet and other forms of wintery mix. With any luck hanging with his grandchildren will reinvigorate him tomorrow.

Apparently my link in the immediate post after saying that you can' hover with that link was too subtle. I should have had arrows and pointers and "here's the hoverable one."

I'm simply impressed that so many people were so very concerned to see that we didn't miss out on the real person slash.

AUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!

Jesus God, I am reading my email and responding to said email, which is every bit as private as my pen and paper correspondence, not that the difference matters one whit to you, since as far as you're concerned, it's all fair game for reading over my shoulder!

I came into my bedroom so I could work on answering email and open up my word doc and she followed me in here, climbed on the bed, and began looking over my shoulder again. Then, when Lewis called on his way home from work, she STAYED IN HERE through the whole freakin' conversation.

Am I being unreasonable that this is making me crazy?

Not unreasonable at all, Barb. I think you can work it to your advantage by posting -- in unambiguous language -- how intrusive and inappropriate she's being. That way she'll see it when she looks over your shoulder.

Do you not feel comfortable just telling her to stop it? Or did I skim and miss a post where you said that you already did, but she disregarded it?

That would make me crazy, too, Barb. I don't even like doing things like washing the dishes with someone looking over my shoulder, much less handing personal correspondence and conversations. I'm sorry no one bought your mother a sense of boundaries for Christmas.

Do you not feel comfortable just telling her to stop it?

I've told her to stop it. This brings one of two responses: a) the "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize it bothered you," after which she proceeds to do the exact same thing or some variation thereof or b) the airy, "Oh, what could possibly be so important that your own mother can't see it?" accompanied by either a light "you're being so silly" laugh or a hurt expression implying that I'm a Bad Daughter for wanting to keep secrets.

Then there's the whole part where if she's not looking over my shoulder, she sits in my office and talks on her cell phone while I'm trying to answer said email or whatever.

I do try to be patient. But seriously, this is just nuts.

Just. Until. Tomorrow. Morning.

The good: There's a restaurant that delivers to my hotel.

The sad: They won't deliver booze. It's on the menu, but apparently WV has laws about booze delivery or something. Because the best option is to put the alcohol in the hands of someone who drove over to get it, apparently. Hmph.

I'd pour some booze through the interpipe for you, but I've a sneaking suspicion it would be diverted before it got to you, Calli.

Barb, much patience~ma until tomorrow.

I have distinct memories of needing to find a liquor store in Charleston. I don't even remember why I was driving through, do remember that the stop was for weather, and there's something about that town that really demands going out and finding the liquor store. (I should be clear that I like Charleston. But I'm not sure my liver could take living there, or indeed staying longer than a short trip.)

I've been through Charleston dozens of times, but this is the first time I've stayed. I'm looking forward to exploring it with my sister tomorrow. (Cherchez le booze?)