I'm feeling rather tense tonight. I spent pretty much all day doing housework, etc. which in itself is not reason to feel tense. But it's composited by the fact my mother recently had surgery (nothing dangerous, don't worry) and as such is now effectively housebound. Now, consider this: normally, my mother is the primary mover and shaker in taking care of my grandmother's needs for shopping runs, etc. I don't mind taking that on.

But when you factor in doing it for both, and all you hear is them squabbling, rambling about onions tied to their belts for a few hours; note that it doesn't end there, since I have to return with my mother to hear a continuation and reiteration of the exact same points I just heard prior.. It's not that I mind doing stuff for mum while she's "invalid" - just that it's me doing it all. I'm just exhausted by it mentally.

Now, to the second part. I've been pondering more and more about getting a place of my own; not rental, since rental is effectively akin to suicide in this day and age*. No, buying. I wouldn't necessarily want anything major - a 3/1 would be fine, and Canningvale has blocks of land for around $200K, which would be feasible. Of course, were I planning seriously longterm, I would probably consider building a four bedroom home, to account for my relationship with angstycat continuing to blossom.**

The real problems, though, come not from this conceptual stage, but the reality of it all. I honestly doubt a bank would give me anywhere near the finances required to get both a house built AND the land. The second comes effectively from my support base - or more, precisely, my lack of one. A few of my friends who I've discussed it with, such as Sam, javaboy32, and my coworker who is attempting the same, seem to think it's quite feasible. Xanthi, I think, is a little wary, but that's ok.

But my family is pretty much close to calling me an idiot***. For starters, they think building a house is stupid, why not just buy an existing one? Well, let's see, a lot of homes are severely overpriced in the modern market****, and it would be a place of my OWN. My mother makes a comment about having to stop buying Transformers - I respond by saying, I would probably strongly curtail my purchases, and be a lot more selective. But rather than saying "well, that's a step in the right direction", no, I'm more or less being treated like an infant. But isn't that the fucking point? I'm talking about making what could be considered one of the most major steps of my "adult life", and acknowledging adjusting my passions and hobbies to suit this - and I'm shot down. So which is? Do you want me to "grow up and stop buying Transformers" and put it towards something "adult", or not?

I just honestly feel I have zero support from the people who one would think would offer the most. And the real catlyst to all this has come NOT from my mother's invalid time off, since that was more recent, but from the fact I keep getting boxed in. Case in point: my mother asks me if I "want" my futon couch, which was given to me free by javaboy32, is in good condition, and sits about four people. "Um, yeah, mostly since when I get my own place, then I HAVE a couch.." "Well, your grandmother's bought a new set of lounge furniture, and she's giving me her old set, so I need to put it in here." But rather than, say, putting the futon into the games room, that's a problem because it will "mark the carpet". EVERYTHING IN THERE MARKS THE CARPET. We don't even USE the goddamn room. We USED to, but now we don't. It's home to a pool table that gets used if someone (eg ME) has a party, a fireplace that's not been lit in about three years, and the old couch. Likewise pretty much everything I own - I am not allowed to have my stuff out. You literally can't GET to a lot of my stuff now, because I've had to keep piling it into the spare bedroom. And then today, perhaps the striking factor.

I'm in the middle of reorganising things: moving a lot of my video games into the bottom shelving of my entertainment unit (did I mention ALL the furniture in the lounge room is mine? All the bookcases, the couch, the tv, the display case, etc). I'm basically packing MORE of my stuff up in such a way that I won't really be able to get to, or enjoy any of it until I one day unpack it again. Enter mother: "You'll only have to unpack it all again, I'm planning on painting in here."

It would be nice to be included in ANY sort of event in this household. New furniture, renovations, etc. I probably sound like a whiny bitch here, and yeah, whatever, but I pay board. $150 a week, towards the bills, rates, food, etc. And yet, I'm treated worse than a renting tenant. At least if I WAS, there would be existing organisations to offer support and advice. But there isn't, and to make it worse, it's family. At least if I WAS able to build a house or something, I could wait it out, count down the days - but the more I dwell on it, the less feasible that comes off, and I keep imagining a continuation of the status quo until something snaps. That's more or less the only reason I even buy lottery tickets, the slim hope a win could see me well off enough simply to NOT BE HERE.

I don't even need a lot of space; as noted, a three bedroom house would be more than ample for me. Hell, I could probably set up everything I own in our own games room and be comfortable, but that would lead to CARPETS BEING MARKED, and that's apparently a worse sin.


* Seriously, just finding a place would be hard enough, let alone the continual rise in rental prices.
** Hi sweetie
*** which I learnt is a technically recognised term - an idiot is a person of IQ 25 or less.
**** There's a place up the road from me. It's *literally* a rectangular box, two bedrooms, no gardens (they literally bricked it all), and that's $350K.

FUN. With a capital F for fuck.

Got home from work, take off shirt. WHEE, hives has spread like wildfire across my back and ass. Seriously, between the knees and neck, I'm like a lobster. My skin feels like *Braille*.

Rang my regular GP, to see if I could get in tomorrow. When asked why, I explain, they say "come over NOW".

It's still hives, but I have a corticosteroidal cream to use on my skin, and I go back in a couple of days.

I feel absolutely hideous and loathsome. I know it doesn't unless you scratch it, but I'm scared it will leave marks. I'm scared it will get to my face. I'm scared of how people will perceive it.

I feel so terrible

Oh JOY.

Go to bathroom, notice my thighs have erupted into red welts, which weren't there this morning.

Cue standard anxiety attack, which didn't help the shower I'm already trying to shake

My day was pretty much shitty.

Work was very hectic, with lots of things going wrong; things I was able to overcome, but in a rush, and involving lugging things all around the museum post-haste. It was a day where I moved at 100 miles a second, and got nowhere.

Then, driving home, my car died. Again.

A week or so ago, my car came back with a "we can't find anything wrong" position. Today? It locked up. Couldn't get out of first. Pulled over, waited about an hour in the sun and heat; RAC shows up. Car starts, no problems. I can only assuming turning the engine off somehow "rebooted" whatever was wrong. Did I mention the warranty ended YESTERDAY? I'm looking into things. Mostly since I'd actually actioned this before it ended.

At least once I got home, showered, etc, karenanning, lady_luinheniel and I went and helped areata and charlie_delta unpack her new place.

And I had a Hot Pocket.

Oh, universe.

Just when I finally had a couple of thousand dollars I could put towards moving out.. car problems. A couple of thousand dollars worth of car problems.

COCKPUNCHED. Seriously, when I finally make just a tiny bit of headway...

So, I got some test results. Good News and Bad News.

The good news is that... well, everything tested was normal. Blood analysis - normal (slightly low platelet count is worst, and then only by a margin). Liver, fine. Kidneys, fine. Blood sugar levels, fine. Cholesterol levels, fine. Thyroid is fine. Not even a blip of an STI (not that I thought I'd have one anyway).

Of course, this means the BAD news is that I still have no real clue as to what's causing the problems. I'm thinking it's damn likely to be muscular then, but now I have to wait for the Endoscopy of Fear* to take it to the next level.

So, this basically means more feeling out of sorts and angsty. I really need to get this other computer fixed up so I can just immerse myself in games or something. Oh wait, that requires money, which I won't have because I have to pay private hospital fees to GET the test done, and guess what's not covered on my benefits?


* Not down the throat. Or up the butt either.

Feeling tetchy.

( TMI below. )

Today sucked. Really, really sucked.

Teaching stuff didn't go well, but I'm making a friendslocked entry.

A piece of the fillings I had done the other week flaked out.

My car's radiator is leaking.

I'm almost flat broke.

I'm waiting for the part where I get hit on the head with a coconut or something now.

Ugh. Just from reading a post susp made as regards to the sudden, surprising death of an acquaintance online, it sort of got me thinking again.

( TMA - the A is for Angst )

I've also been given a recommendation to see a specialist in urology, to try to determine if it IS something to do with my bladder/kidneys, or if it's muscular. I really don't like the doctor's implication of having a fibre optic camera inserted via my urethra, though. I think I would take a strong draught of rum or something before walking in.

My higher brain functions need a fucking OFF-switch.

It's like a thousand keyboards clattering away non-stop.

Or a hundred remote controls, being scatter-shot clicked across all possible channels.

It doesn't help I know I should be trying to study for a test, but I can't make my brain work. And I'm having physical reactions - whether to the anxiety or to the actual physical catalysts of the mental issues, I don't know.

Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate my brain.

I am a little angsty over a sore spot on the side of my neck. And before you roll your eyes and think "paranoia!", it's *quite* plausible that it could be some sort of skin cancer. Australians suffer from something like a 60% likelihoof of getting at least one in their lives.

Oh, there you are.

I'd been wondering when you'd pop by.

I should have guessed you'd come by some time soon.

Stay the night. I'm sure you were going to anyway.

Visitor, thy name art Depressive Angst.

...wow.

This day did NOT turn out as predicted.

Xmas itself went as expected - family gathered, stayed for lunch, then headed on..

Then I waited a while, went online, and recharge138 said he had tried to call, but he'd used the wrong number. So he called, and we chatted for about an hour or so.

And then things got weird.

Weird as in, my mother's boyfriend, Bruce, must have started venting his opinions - not in that drunken "Rarrarar rassinfrassin" sense, but in that "I've enough booze to make me confident enough to speak my mind, whilst not being aware of this thing called 'tact'." Earlier, over lunch, he basically called my sister fat. She was a little taken aback (she's not fat by any means, just stocky, with a big bust), but let it slide somewhat.

Mum came in at one point, and basically said, "I'm taking your grandmother home now. Bruce has been mouthing off, and called me a smart-arse, and a lowlife, and now your grandmother's starting into him". I know he was trying to compensate when Gran went to leave by saying, "Don't leave because of what I've said", but it failed completely.

Mum was furious. As in, that sort of anger where you go silent and withdrawn. I've NEVER seen my mother like this. This is something entirely new on her pissed-off-ometer. She went to talk to him after she got back from dropping Gran home, and they talked a while. And then mum came in, told me she was putting his wallet and keys (that were in her handbag) on the counter, and she was going for a drive.

That was the weirdest bit. She NEVER drives without a purpose. She never drives anywhere without a plan of where she's going to.

About ten minutes later, I heard Bruce get his stuff, and head to his car, and leave. Mum's still out there driving right now.

As to what happens now, I don't know.

*Five minutes later*

I rang her to let her know he headed out, since I had a phone message saying "am ok, just need time". I think she's just ended the whole thing - although he's left his Xmas presents (not just from us, from his kids too) and some clothes here. Mum will probably gather them up or something, and drop them off, I guess.

TOTALLY not what was expected of a Good family Christmas, that's for sure.

Ugh. I think I'm definitely some sort of adrenalin junkie. With friends tonight, I felt great. Everything is ok in my head (aside from a couple of brief moments of phobic doom) and then... I come home, think about both phobic doom and the rigmarole of bureacracy I'm about to reenter tomorrow morning...

.. and that rising spectre of defeat* and despair makes his presence known.



*No, not Poop Dawg, the gangsta specta of defeat.

Ah, the bipolar waltz.

A couple of slips into bleak despair over the day, a few waves of depression over the future few months, interspersed with standard banality and punctuated by odd moments of glee.

My car was meant to be ready to pick up today - it is still sitting in Kalgoorlie. So much for getting it down over the weekend.

My printer is also throwing a fit - telling MPService cannot communicate with it. Of course, doing all the things I need to do to fix it does nothing, like the proverbial goggles.

I'm also in the process of packing up all my stuff. Well, most of the non-book stuff. No, I'm not "putting away childish things".. I just.. don't feel like having anything out anymore. I packed up about 90% of my Transformers when I left Kal, I don't quite know why. And now... the spark is gone. I don't feel the heart to get them out again.

God knows how I'm gonna pack up the Zoids without breaking any. Newspaper padding, I suppose.

Sometimes I wonder who I am these days. I'm definitely not the person I was two or three years ago. I once considered the changes I underwent after the first time I left university/was on Roaccutane/quite depressed to be the boundary of the Triassic/Jurassic in my life*. But what does this make this? The period from the Sinemurian to the Callovian? This big flat spot where nothing of any real impact occurs. Not to disparage my friends, but their lives remind me of how stagnant and underevolved my own is. They have careers, spouses, homes of their own.

I'm back to living in the same bedroom I lived in since age 13, with about the same financial stability, and as successful a romantic life. I won't get to see my US friends for a long time, I have a spectre of debt hanging over me in the months to come (unless someone takes the unit - if they DO, a surprise box of chocolates in the post might seem apt), I have the prospect of increasing my student debt even more than it is, atop the pressures of trying to make sure I do really well in the year to come.

Part of me is scared that this is how the rest of my life is gonna turn out; part of me is scared that no matter what I do, I can't change it.

Huh. From fine to depressed in under... however long it took to go over that directory.

I'm filled with.. conflict. Self hatrd. Fear. Nausea. Doubt. Panic. Terror.

I think I just had my worst panic attack ever; enough so I was gagging on my sobs. My face is still wet from tears.



Image totally whored from here.

Gnnnn. Just had a major anxiety/panic attack.

I think I'm ok now, just.. need to keep my mind elsewhere. Or elsewhen.

I don't think I can be blamed for watching a heap of porn right now.