I've been procrastinating. I'm supposed to be at my parents' house in an hour and a half and I haven't lifted a finger to get ready yet. I wish I didn't have to go. Holidays always get to me. I suppose that's true of a lot of people. Still ...

Makes me think of the movie Home For The Holidays. There's this great scene where Holly Hunter is in the car, being criticized by her parents while being driven to their house from the airport. She looks out the window and catches the eye of the man (who always reminded me of an old friend, Mike Stowe ... something about his face) in the car next to theirs, who's in the same situation. He sees her, looks at his parents, and rolls his eyes ...

It all ties in to what I was saying earlier, both here, and in wackywallflower's journal ... about how messed up it is that my parents still have the ability to make me feel like I'm incompetent.

This has been a really fucking rough month for me, for a myriad of reasons. I won't go into all of them again, but suffice it to say, I'm still feeling very fragile, and very much alone. It just seems like the last fucking thing I need is to go over to that house and be made to feel even lower than I already do.

Like smoking ... I know my Dad. My Dad is not comfortable until everything revolves around him. One way or another, if he finds out I quit smoking, it's going to be all about him ... he's going to be the center of all things, making as much noise as possible, and ... and I'm not going to finish that thought. But it will be just like the night we buried Molly, when somehow, once again, the whole evening became all about my Dad and about how much noise he could make.

The winner is the one who shouts the loudest.