I've spent a good portion of the last 60-72 hours some manner of fuming.

It started with a rough week -- Tuesday, I spent 12 hours in two ERs because my diabetic camping guest had an episode of DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis), and I couldn't help thinking if I'd only had more information and training (by which I mean any), I could have helped keep it from happening. Because the guest in question is only 15 and has been living with diabetes for 2 years but hadn't been camping at 5000 feet before and isn't all that conscientious about snacks.

And after her dad drove from Portland to Medford to take over, I packed up Son2 and Son3 and all our gear (the next morning) and drove home Wednesday afternoon, and my alternator went out about 45 miles south of Salem. (In fact, a fragment of my foul mood started when Son1 decided he wasn't coming on the family camping trip -- after we'd loaded his gear and packed enough food for all four of us. The diabetic guest is his girlfriend. But I got over that part. Maybe.)

THE GOOD SIDE: I made it to my mechanic before my battery died, and she arranged me a rental car, and was able to get it done the next day, and talked her boss into letting me make payments to get the work paid off by the end of September.

Meanwhile, the leak into my laundry room that I thought I solved before I left has apparently gotten worse. And the dryer still squeaks. And Son1 (now over 18, still living here, doesn't have a job, DOES do work around the house, but not all that promptly) has STILL not called any of the appliance repair shops I asked him to.

THE GOOD SIDE: The kitchen is now blue, instead of mostly blue with some leftover hideous yellow. And also very clean.

Thursday morning, the kitchen is not clean. There are dishes in the motherfucking sink and on the motherfunking counter and there are cooking pans that should have been cleaned but motherfucking weren't and I am not a happy camper, because I know that Thursday night I have to figure out how to get all our filthy camp wear and bedding -- including the sleeping bag and blankets that diabetic girl threw up in -- clean.

So after my first day back at work I run some pre-convention errands with my roommate, figure out how to pay for my new alternator, and take my other roommate and a crap-ton of laundry to the laundromat. Then I go get my car, and by the time I get home it's 11pm and I have to be back at work at 7am, and the laundry has been brought home wet because it's cheaper to use the squeaky dryer than the dryers at the laundromat. Other-roommate plans to stay up and do the drying to earn bunches of chore points.

Only I find out the Friday that other-roommate fell asleep while doing the drying, stayed home to finish it instead of going to lunch with friends she sees only once a year, and is pissed. I feel passive-aggressively blamed. And that's also Day Zero of con, and the only person left in my house is Son3 (Son2 is at his dad's and Everyone Else is at Con). This does not improve my feelings toward Con.

Friday night, I walk in and my house stinks. My couch looks like a hobo's nest. There are dishes - again - all over the motherfucking kitchen and living room instead of in the motherfucking dishwasher. My house is not dusted all that often, but having just returned from camping, I NOTICE that dust is EVERYWHERE. And it stinks. I am not pleased. And no one is here but Son3, because, as previously mentioned, everyone else is at motherfucking con. And TankTheDog is back, because Son1 told his owners for whom we are fostering Tank that they could bring him back before the end of the weekend. Guess who isn't here to take care of Tank? ANYBODY, and certainly NOT SON1. Well, Son3, but he's not exactly the most proactive of my brood.

So Son3 and I spend several hours cleaning. And cleaning. And cleaning. And I buy him pizza and tell him how very much I appreciate him being here and being helpful and that I really don't want to subject him to the vitriol churning in my gut because he's the one person who doesn't deserve any of my rage.

And other-other roommate gets home. And I let her see the very tender edge of how pissed I am. No sympathy. Perhaps it's an attempt at commiseration when she tells me how much she cleaned while I was gone and that she had to scrub mold off the toilet (in the bathroom only she and Son3 use). But I read it as one-upsmanship, or maybe just being dismissive of my anger. Or maybe she was a little put out that I couldn't squee about the fun she was having working the registration at con because I REALLY KIND OF HATE THE MOTHERFUCKING CON RIGHT NOW. Whatever. I didn't share my pizza. She made mac-n-cheese.

And Saturday morning, someone had made off with the two slices of pizza I had put in a zippie bag for lunch. Maybe it was Son3, but I doubt it, since he was in bed before me and I was up before him. I hadn't put my name on it, so there's a limit to how pissed I can be about that.

Today I got home and finished folding the laundry. Apparently folding laundry is very soothing today, because I was far less furious when I was done than I had been on my way home from work at 6:30pm.

And tomorrow I return to the laundromat, because we actually didn't get the whole motherfucker done on Thursday. And I pull out the camp gear that got put away damp and hope it's soon enough to keep it from mouldering.

OH and my so-called brother whom I allowed to borrow my 10x20 canopy for SeaDog hasn't returned it -- hasn't even called to talk about returning it -- and quite likely has it at Tortuga right now without asking me. He also has other-other-roommate's garb. Guess who has two thumbs and isn't lending out her equipment anymore -- THIS GUY.

oh, and I can't say one bit of this on facebook because EVERY SINGLE PERSON I'M MAD AT IS THERE. And when I do say any of it to them, it will be to their face, not a passive aggressive angry post I EXPECT them to read and react to. Instead I write this simply passive angry post that I DON'T expect any of them to see.

Though, to be completely honest, I'm actually past the rage part. Now I'm just getting shit done. There will be a house meeting, though. Because For The Love Of GOD why can't these people put the dishes in the motherfucking dishwasher?