This morning I put cake sprinkles in my coffee.

And a cocktail umbrella in my tea.

I needed the lift. My mother wants to come visit.

*cue Wicked Witch of the West theme music*

I don't feel I have a good option here. And that's not a good feeling. She's got stuff from my childhood, stuff with sentimental value to me, and she's threatening to trash it unless I either come to see her, or she and Bob bring it by. So she says she's coming by this Sat. As long as I tell her where I live, that is.

I feel blackmailed. I have no desire to see her. I'm mad at her.
I spent an entire childhood depressed and scared, and she never once acknowledged it or offered to help because she was too wrapped up in her own little world of drama.
When my grandfather decided to take up grabbing my ass and groping my chest, my mother said it was my fault, and that I'd somehow brought it on. I'm not even kidding.
I could go on and on.

I don't hate her. I AM mad at her.
I just want to be left alone.