I've had a ROTTEN day and I think I am entitled to one angsty post, so this is going to be it. Because this is a streamofconsciousness post, I have scrapped paragraphs and links, and I'm going to post as-is.

Charlotte's really getting the hang of this 'terrible twos' business, making my life a living hell today. In the morning and afternoon/evening stretches, her favourite word was 'no!' and followed with a swift punch/kick/pinch combo worth 5000 points. After hearing a ruckus after her lunchtime nap, I walked in to find that she did a poop in her nappy. Did I mention her new hobby is taking off all her clothes whenever I'm not looking? Well, it is. So I walked into her room to find a cot and baby smeared in poop. I bathed her and fed her, where she then decided to give me a five minute reprieve from her SCREAMING. I thought I'd make the most of it by making myself a coffee and ducking out for a well-earned fagbreak. Sitting down on my balcony with whitenoise of Charlotte giggling and dancing to New MacDonald's Farm, I caught a whiff of poop and felt damp on my shoulder/neck. In her panic to clamour out of the bathtub, she had smeared chunks of poop onto my hair, shoulder, and upper arm. She refused to eat dinner, wouldn't drink her milk, kept taking off her clothes, and when she wasn't hitting me, she was throwing her toys around and/or trying to disassemble the stereo. She wouldn't sleep without her Fimbo, but she'll just have to deal with a toy cat tonight, because she covered Fimbo in poop. Big thankyou to Recon for trying to keep me sane, just shooting the shit. I'm not too sure if it's worked, but I'm feeling oddly serene. Exhausted, but serene. I was planning to zone out with the second half of Full Metal Jacket, Reservoir Dogs, The Shining, popcorn and bourbon, but I don't seem to have the energy to drag my arse back into the loungeroom, let alone walk to the kitchen. Ian, I'm sorry. I really wish I had a Filipina maid who sang 80s powerballads. Maybe I should ask my doppelganger across the way. M bought me a TV, DVD and VCR the other day for Mother's Day. He said it was from the family. When he went to collect their 'contribution' for it, he got nothing. They said that I wasn't a part of the family anymore. Yep. Also, I was going to do a meme that Clare had asked me to do, but Tina just rang, returning my call from earlier. She was out in The Valley with Lee, she asked how things were going. I fell apart. I hate crying. THEN! She put Lee on. Lee's awesome, but I don't think she's ever seen/heard me cry before. Low blow, Tina. Putting Lee on is like showing me a starving Ethiopian child while I'm eating Christmas lunch. I cried some more and now I feel worse because I don't have anybody down here. I hate crying. I know it's a combination of loneliness and PMT, but I feel like I'm having a fucking breakdown. The people who care about me are all so far away and have their own problems to deal with, and the people who SHOULD be there for me (my family) don't want a bar of me, and I certainly don't want a bar of them. But I don't know what I'm doing with anything anymore. I don't know where I go from here. I don't know where I belong. I hate the days where I don't feel invincible.