Pardon the depression.

What a fucking day. Two things, here.

One:

If you send an email to a relative with Borderline Personality Disorder, even if you haven't spoken to that person in two and a half years, be prepared for the worst. Even if that email was meant for (and sent to, but with "reply-all" hit instead of "reply") someone else. And even if all that email said was "Hey, congratulations on moving! You deserve a spa day!" If I told you what the response I got was, I don't think you'd even believe me. Unless you've dealt with someone who has BPD, you just can't understand the pure fucking fury. Scary shit.

Two:

D, our fresh air fund kid was taken home a day early: he got in a fistfight with my oldest. Really, they were both to blame. And my oldest freely admits it. But once things escalated to the point of them actually punching the crap out of each other (they had verbally argued quite a few times prior), that was it. Visit over.

The sad thing was, well, how sad D was. For someone who was quite aloof about letting us know he was having fun, he was really upset about going home. Ugh. And truthfully, he was getting along SO much better with my oldest that Maggie and I were like, "Oh, this is turning out great!" But again, physical violence is one line that can't be crossed in this house.

So, we're back to being a house of 5 again (9, if you include the dogs and cats). And I'm feeling really, really sad.

I miss my crazy-ass relatives, in spite of the fact that, their asses are, indeed, crazy. And I'm sad that things didn't turn out better with D. I think we gave him a great trip, overall: we got him swim lessons (and he learned to swim!), we got him tennis lessons, we took him to Rye Playland... and more importantly, we hung out. He's a bright and friendly kid, for the most part.

So that's all from me. I'll be more interesting tomorrow. I hope.

Love to all. Even you, the lady with the worn-down pastels.