Seriously, what a fucked up couple of days. Got back from a few days off work and had to use a flamethrower to make a path to my desk through the bullshit that had accumulated in my office. Finally came out of the weeds (heh, as if) yesterday, just in time for Mom's cancer to start acting up. She had some kind of wacked out reaction to her last chemoembolism (necrotised tumor? clot? infection?) that caused a little fluid buildup. A scary event, but treatable. They never found out exactly why her liver was kicking back, but all the cultures came back negative for infection or roving cancer cells. Which reminds me. If I die and come back for a second life or something, I want to be some kind of cellular organism that eats cancer cells. What a bunch of fucking punks.

We're still trying to find someone to sign the old apartment over to, in an effort to avoid paying the exorbitant breaklease penalty. Had a promising contact come in, but we won't know if he's approved until tomorrow or Friday. Which reminds me. This is just conjecture, but what if the apartment complex is screwing me? They don't want me to transfer my lease to anyone, because they can rent the apartment for about $150 more per month. So everytime somebody applies, they just don't approve them. That means the company gets to keep the $50 app fee that everyone pays, they get to charge me the $1100 breaklease penalty, and they get to make an extra two grand on the new lease. /tinfoil hat off/

My brother's wedding is the weekend after Thanksgiving, and I'm leaving Saturday for the long journey. Leaving early, spending the night with some weirdos I met over the internet, and then continuing on Sunday to the condo that we're staying in. Which reminds me. These condo people could be a fucking modified Nigerian scam for all I know. We send a few emails, then I give them my credit card number (like a dumbass) and they're supposed to send me the code to the keylock. What a racket. Right now some dicksmack is buying a lifetime supply of Slim Jims with my credit card. All I'm saying is I better be getting the air miles.

Then when we get back from vacation the last weekend of this month, we're going to have to move the last load of furniture out to the house. Not too big a task since we're already about 70% moved out, but it'll mean renting a truck to throw the mattresses, couch, and dressers on. Which reminds me. Moving is a clusterfuck. I'm living out of my sock drawer, all my other clothes are either at the new place or packed for the trip. My house looks like a full-on crack den, the TV's sitting on the floor next to the DVD player, there's nothing but nails hanging everywhere, and it echoes.

Seriously, after this shit I'm going to need a vacation.