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Today, tomorrow, and Friday are dedicated to my dear, sweet, youngest sister Susanna. It’s 1:30pm on Day 1 of this Susannathon, and I’m seriously contemplating stabbing my eyeballs out with the nearest pencil. Seriously.

Her brain. Oh my. It goes in 20 directions. All at one time. Talking to her is like swatting gnats. I made a list, and she resists. She typity-types on her laptop, and I ask her what she’s working on, and she snarls at me. I say “did you cancel your proactiv acct?” No. “How much do you still owe for this semester?” Um, not sure. “Where is your College of Charleston parking info?” It was right here…. but it’s not anymore…. um, I guess I lost it. “Why don’t we call and check on the FAFSA?” Uh, well, I kinda haven’t submitted it yet.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!

I have a child, but I somehow skipped all the cute, cuddly years and went straight to parenting an irresponsible, smart-ass pseudo-adult who is somehow still lovable despite the aforementioned characteristics.

Then Daddy calls and wants to know if she’ll write him a check for $400 because he was only prepared to pay $2100 for her semester, and he had to pay $2500 instead. (To be clear, her semester costs $10,000. $2500 is merely a 20% drop in the bucket.) And she tells him she’ll write him a check, and then hangs up and cries. WHA!!?? I’m sorry that his little budget is suffering, but there will be absolutely NO reimbursing of the father here. I call him and tell him that Susanna has no frikkin’ clue how much money she has, or needs, and she will not be paying him anything. That she appreciates his help, and that the “extra” $400 can be his contribution in lieu of cosigning for her loans (which he still refuses to do). Maybe it was the blitz attack, or perhaps the post-miscarriage psychosis in my voice, but he didn’t even argue.

But then he said that he can’t help move her into her dorm on Friday because he has something to do on Saturday.

Lord, please deliver me.

So I put my list in color-coded sections on a whiteboard and prop it up so that it’s directly in your line of vision as you watch tv. Sue likes colors. And finally, we begin accomplishing things. The red section has been finished. The green section is next. And then blue this evening after I drag my discombobulated self to Dr Jerry for an hour of respite.

Tomorrow is her 22nd birthday, complete with cookout tomorrow night. Bobby is taking the day off and is doing the yard work while I clean the house, and Jennifer has agreed to come over 2 hrs early to assist with the cooking.

Friday is moving-to-Charleston day. Bobby and I are getting her settled in, taking her grocery shopping, and then staying the night before heading back home on Saturday.

And I don’t feel good. I know I am sounding like a broken record, but I just don’t. Ugh. At least I have a goal though… no time to think when you’re wrangling your sister’s finances/packing/birthday into submission

I will now conclude this testy little epistle (or should it be e-PISS-tle) and eat lunch. Perhaps food will help the green section of the whiteboard seem a bit less daunting.

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