I am writing this from my mamas house irritated at myself and everyone else in a 50 foot radius. I love my family. God knows I DO! But I don’t know how many more of these gatherings I have in me. I feel like it brings out the absolute worst in me and they provide a large sense of anxiety. No one should have to take as many Ativan a day as I have this weekend. I love spending the holidays with them, but our fights are become more notorious than the holiday. Picture it, Mama Page’s house, any given holiday. The tip off for the fight usually will begin a week to 2 days before we all assemble. Now, this fight will not always be between the same two people, but there is going to be a fight. This time it was me vs. Mama Page. She called me on Tuesday and out of nowhere launched into a tirade about how I better help her cook this year, she isn’t doing anything, so on and so forth. I just agreed, which if you know my mom is like waving blood at a shark. It made her madder and my phone “dropped” the call. Fast forward to this morning, everything was going along well and she asked me to empty the trash. I asked her to give me a minute, because I was washing my daughter’s hair. This is where shit went left. She stormed past me and yanked the trash bag out of the can. I told her I would do it and I grabbed the handle. A tug of war ensued until finally I won and I took the trash out. All was well after that, I baked my cake and I turned to her to ask when she wanted me to start the greens. Now, the ONLY reason I even offered to make the greens was because she already laid me out about helping cook just mere days ago. So as I am asking she’s just kind of ignoring me. I am getting angrier because I do not want to spend all night making greens. Side bar: I know how to make greens, but if they are not made to my mother’s specifications there will be hell. So I waited and waited and finally I said, “If you didn’t need my help you should have just said so.” She starts hollering about my unwillingness to take the trash out earlier. Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. At that point I was beyond frustrated. I jumped in my car headed to the shell station to find my old friend, the Marlboro man. As I sped into the parking lot I thought about how good I felt being a non smoker. I was not going to let any petty argument pull me back. So I got a Pepsi and some fried chicken and headed back to the house. I sat in my car for awhile writing and looking on the Internet before I went in. I remembered that I get to go back home tomorrow. All I have to make it through half of the day tomorrow and I can go back to life as I know it. This will probably be my last year doing this. I cannot keep playing Russian roulette with my holidays. I hate not knowing if I am going to be kissed or killed. That is no way to live. One good thing is, I see what J meant by “emotional tirades” and yeah, I am not going to be that person.