And I feel very guilty because I can't tell you I've gone on ahead in the assisted-living issue and found amazing options, cause I didn't and we didn't. Which feels kind of like "Fuck, Paulie, you had one job," if you're me, which makes me feel kind of glad I don't work for Tony cause disappointing him led to more than a bad review, right?

I haven't had any emotional spoons left for Dad for quite a while now. I know he's not being crazy on purpose, and I know he's not being crazy *at* me. But I still have nothing left for him, emotionally. Not anymore. I guess what I really need is an extra helping of grace so that I can extend some grace to him and get through this to whatever might help him.

This is me and my older sister. When we went down last week to bring some of her things from her house to my parents' house AT HER REQUEST (AND we picked up the car from my soon-to-be-former BiL), things went poorly enough that my watch gave me a high heart rate while not moving alert. Oops?

I might have lost my patience and snapped, but Christ fucking wept. I just. I remember more of 2023 than she does. I know how much we, including the BiL, tried to get her help for both physical and mental health issues. She doesn't remember or acknowledge this. She's angry and abusive, and when she's not verbally aggressive, she's passive-aggressive. She complains she doesn't have money to hire a lawyer (though she claims she can help my parents out with the bills my mom keeps forgetting to pay) while doing things like buying an electric bike that she can't even use, given that she's barely mobile. There are four people living in my childhood home (parents, both siblings), and none of them are really competent, and I hit the end of my rope a long time ago.

My sister used to be the sweetest person. A little Eeyore, but sweet and kind. That person doesn't exist anymore, or if she does, she's buried under pain and resentment. Trying to care about her or help her is a thankless task, and even with the boundaries I've got put in place, it's probably shaved a few years off my life, and I resent that it's making it hard to see my aging and fading parents.

So much whatever you need to Steph, shrift, sarameg, and Plei & any others on the loved one care front.

Oh, Plei. That is so much that is so hard.

Oh, Plei. That is so much that is so hard.

And that's as close to an elevator pitch version as I can even get! If I had a lot of money, like, multimillions, not just a few million, I would be throwing it at lawyers so fast.

You can barely walk into the house now because of the piles of boxes (and the still-in-a-box bike) from her manic spending. And I do mean manic. I suspect mood stabilizers would do her a world of good, but she screamed at me (both real screaming and FB message screaming) when I suggested she might look into the possibility of being bipolar. "I'M JUST DEPRESSED! YOU AREN'T A DOCTOR, SO STOP SAYING I MIGHT BE BIPOLAR!" as if potentially being Bipolar Type 2 is some huge insult (I found her taking it as an insult to be insulting, given that I kept telling her that, I, her blood relative, found SSRIs and the like far less effective than a mood stabilizer, which I am on because my pdoc treats depression mixed with severe anxiety as BP2 with a lot of success).

I'm trying to avoid talking about it as much as I can, as actually looking at it head-on makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide for all eternity, but man. It sucks.

I'm so sorry, Plei. That's hellish, and you deserve a break and some peace. Hugging you from here.

I'm trying to avoid talking about it as much as I can, as actually looking at it head-on makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide for all eternity, but man. It sucks.

That's fair. I don't need details to know that I am On Your Side whatever that may mean

Timelies all!

Happy Birthday Laura!

Hugs and ~ma for all dealing with parental care issues.

In house news, we finally have a functioning sink in the kitchen. Now we need to unpack the metric buttload of boxes in the living room and basement.

I'm trying to avoid talking about it as much as I can, as actually looking at it head-on makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide for all eternity, but man. It sucks.

My heart hurts for you, and all of you dealing with family heartaches. All I can offer is virtual hair pats, martinis, hugs, or an empathetic ear as needed.