Treasure in Hell

I found some exciting things in my parents' scary basement: all the photos I took in continental Europe when I was 17, a notebook of things I wrote as a teen, a notebook full of undergraduate notes, an envelope full of scripts from a scriptwriting class (including a Doctor Who ep I wrote), an envelope full of something my now-deceased step-grandfather (on my dad's side of the family) wrote and sent me, and some undergraduate term papers. I've sealed a package to send myself.

Honeycat is a dog trapped in a cat's body. Pet me pet me pet me! Don't go to sleep! Keep petting me for hours!

My Brief Stay in Indiana

I coughed quite a bit this morning (thanks to my destructive narcissist personality type mother’s smoking, and perhaps also thanks to so much dust) and did it again this evening. I've taken a Wellness Formula pill and a Vitamin C pill and have been gargling mouthwash, so I think I can make it. And the cat is adorable. We're leaving early tomorrow morning!

The dust buster is my friend. I've been using two, especially in my old bedroom (where I'm sleeping). The house is not only cluttered, but the mounds of paraphernalia are coated in a thick layer of dust. Cobwebs hang from the ceilings and walls. The kitchen is especially gross, with grease covering the entire stove top and some counter space; many of the floor tiles are broken. I don’t know how anyone can stand living in such an environment, not to mention eating when confronted with the disgusting sight of that greasy stove and counter. I try not to look at it, though the kitchen is between the garage door and my old bedroom.

Arrival in Indiana

I'm in Indiana. Actually, I'm staying at the Hoarder's House of Horrors right now. I can't wait to go to Massachusetts.

My dad doesn't want to drive off to MA until Friday morning. I'm not looking forward to a whole day here, especially with my mother smoking cancer sticks and yelling at my dad every time he speaks in her presence. If I get out of here without another respiratory infection, it'll be a miracle.

She's smoking in the kitchen, windows closed. I'm not setting foot in the kitchen again. She single handedly ruined my respiratory system, and now I don't have an appendix to protect me. And since my dad probably would have gotten lost driving in Chicago, they both picked me up at the airport--she smoked five cancer sticks in the car and kept yelling at my dad just like she has for as long as I can remember. OK, that's enough ranting!