I saw the manic butterfly and the s & m twins today. We were supposed to go to the beach - but our plans never do work out the way they're supposed to. It's our trademark, I suppose.

We were delayed, Joy's car broke down, it started to rain - so we went to my house and made s'mores in the microwave. I haven't seen the twins in weeks, and it was good. I made them pose for pictures, and they were good sports about it, mostly.

I needed it. Breakfast with my father was labored and painful. I knew I had a breaking point but I didn't expect it to manifest in public.

But I'm tired of not talking about it. It's just hard to talk about, somehow. I just feel like anyone outside my family shouldn't have to hear the long convoluted story and probably couldn't really understand anyway - and I've had to be the strong one in all of this. I haven't felt like I'm supposed to be that affected by it. Never mind that I'm angry and furious and miserable. I can just shove that all down. I've only recently felt like maybe I am justified in those feelings.

But I still don't feel like I have anybody to talk to about it. The obvious choices - my parents - just don't work. I've tried to talk to other people but it just doesn't feel right. I always start, and then brush it off.

Anyway. I did talk to my mother a few hours ago and it was good.

I'm tired. I feel overwhelmed. I want to watch Six Feet Under, and then sleep.