Losing It.

I am fucking losing it.
I have been home less than 24 hours, and I am already going insane.
I just want to scream, and in fact, I have!

What the fuck? Aren't people supposed to like going home? Isn't break supposed to be relaxing or at least productive?
I've already written about yesterday, so let me tell you about the 3 hours I have been awake so far today.

Truth: all I want to do is read a fucking book.
I JUST WANT TO READ A FUCKING BOOK. How hard is it to settle in with a cup of tea and read a fucking book?!

Today (a.k.a. the past 3 hours) has been fucking ridiculous.
Well, it all started with a dentist appointment. I mean, that was normal. I expected it. In fact, I was glad to have it, because that meant I would get up early enough to accomplish something. HA!
So my dad had an appointment at the same time. Cool. Not bad. It meant I didn't have to drive.
It was also the only time today I've had a chance to read at all, but the tv in the waiting room was so damn loud I got maybe 2 pages done.
My dad came out of his appointment and told me that Mom is picking him up because they're going to a gathering with some of their church group.
She rolled down her window and told me that she had some papers that needed graded and that if I could do that it would be great. To the untrained ear, it sounds like she's just asking me to do it if I have time, but really she'll just bitch about how no one ever helps her and make the atmosphere of the house even worse if I don't do it, so I'm kind of stuck in it. So, yeah, I haven't even gotten to that yet, but it's another piece of shit I need to do.
So I had the car. I took the opportunity to go to Joann's and look around for some fabric for a dress I wanted to make. Of course, I'm there for 5 minutes when I get a phone call from my dad saying he misunderstood and it was only a gathering for Mom and I needed to drive 15 minutes out to a neighboring city to pick him up. I hadn't eaten yet, and it was about 12:30pm.
So I do that. Then my dad decides that we need to eat. So we picked up Chipotle for him, Amanda, and me.
We went home. We ate. I sit down to start reading and my dog knocks over a can of pop onto the new carpet.
I get to start reading, and my dad comes in, talking to me in circles about something I need to do and KNOW I need to do, but just keeps going and going and going in circles.
Again, I sit down to start reading and my sister asks me to proofread a sonnet she has to write for English.
I'm sitting there proofreading it, and it doesn't make sense. Turns out her English teacher never taught them what a sonnet was, but told them to write one. So I have to teach her what it is and walk her through how to properly write one.
Meanwhile, my dad is running around the house, screaming "I get to annoy you alllll week!!!!!" I just lose it. I just yell, "I've been home for less than 24 hours, and I'm already going INSANE! All I want to do is read a damn book and I can't even do that! I'M GOING INSANE!"
If my mom were home, I'd never be able to do that.
So I sit down to start reading YET AGAIN, and I get a text from my mom saying we need to go to the grocery store. Aaaaand here I am now. That's why I'm writing this entry instead of reading: because I'll start reading, and she'll immediately pull into the driveway.

So yes. It looks like I will be spending my evening in Starbucks. My goal for today is just to read. I don't fucking care about anything else. I will worry about my crafts and grading papers tomorrow. JESUS CHRIST.

This is why I hate coming home. I can never get anything done. I can never relax. I always have instructions and requests and commands shouted at me 24/7. It is fucking ridiculous.
I HAVE THINGS TO DO TOO, YOU KNOW!
I absolutely hate coming home. I absolutely hate the holidays.
Jesus Christ. I hate this place.