There should not be snow before my birthday, and my birthday isn't until tomorrow.

And the wind chill this far south just shouldn't be in the single digits at all.

Ugh. Up already in that too-early-to-wake/too-late-to-fall-back-asleep dead zone. The stress of accounting and auditing the invite list and basically goddamn everything about the holiday party at work is going to fucking kill me. What a colossally, fantastically stupid way to die.

Just got in from taking the dog out to pee.

It's colder than a witch's tit in a brass bra.

JZ, we will not suffer your sacrifice for a party.

I'm going to talk with my manager and my counterpart about it. She's underutilized for sure (tbh, she's mostly forgotten, for a variety of reasons too complicated to type on a phone) and something needs to change about this whole miserable dynamic.

This was going to be my year to just sit it out and be a guest, dammit.

Happy belated birthday, Jessica!

Happy birthday, Hil!

Loving the cool weather here.

Happy birthday, Hil!

It's so cold here in NY that both of my children willingly wore their actual winter coats AND scarves AND gloves.

Happy birthday Jessica and Hil.

Very cold here as well. Arguing with my never cold girl to wear not only a coat but a hat and gloves is exhausting first thing in the morning.

Happy Birthdays, Hil and Jessica!

t deep breath, long exhale I just need to emotion-dump this here, because it's not something serious enough to interrupt Tim at work (at least, I'm fairly certain it's not that serious -- just keep reading), but I need to talk about it so I can get my head back together and do some work.

My brother called me half an hour ago to tell me that he relapsed again. It started last week, and his wife is out of town. This seems very different from his relapse in 2016, because he was extremely clear-headed and lucid on the phone with me, and in 2016 he was a hot fucking barely coherent mess. He told me that he had been drinking vodka, but he stopped last night and today he texted a neighbor to ask for a ride to the grocery store so he could buy beer to do a taper like he did in 2016 (the neighbor showed up at his house in like 2 minutes -- good neighbor).

(My hands are shaking and my stomach is about to flip itself inside out. My stress level is through the roof right now.)

We talked for a while about what he was going to do. His wife is out of town until Saturday. I told him I'd get a flight today if he needed me. He said that he thinks he can do this himself until Saturday. He also said he's talked to his therapist and his other sober folks, so he has support out there, unlike in 2016. (He also told his wife this morning, so she knows.)

(And while I was typing this, he literally just now texted to tell me that a sober friend is on his way over to keep him company. So that's a relief. My stress level is a bit lower now.)

I thanked him for trusting me enough to tell me that he relapsed, and I told him that I was assuming that by telling me, he wanted my support AND for me to hold him accountable. He didn't hesitate to say yes, absolutely. So for today, I'm going to call him every 2 hours to check in. Then we'll see how tomorrow is, how often I should call to check in.

I *think* this will be fine. I think he'll get through this and be fine on the other side. I know relapse is a part of recovery. But part of me really wanted to believe that his relapse in 2016 would be it, that now he's fine. How stupid can I be? Extremely stupid, apparently.

So. Jesus fucking CHRIST.

Thank god I have therapy tomorrow morning.