Are you my mother?

If I was still in high school [like I was 6 years ago. christ, six years] this would be the kind of night that my mom would have had to come downstairs and talk to me for several hours. Remind me never to have an emotional train wreck for a daughter. Remind me not to have a daughter. Remind me not to have children. You see, I've been hysterical for about a half hour now. The kind of hysterics that would not have even existed if I still lived downtown and shared a wall with my roommate. Hysterics that my larger apartment is much more conducive to.

You see, when I was in high school (and the greater part of middle school), I'd occasionally have *one of those nights* where I'd be a bit farklempt in the evening and then once I was alone in my bedroom I'd erupt into the Mt Vesuvius of pre/during/post pubescent meltdowns. I'd try and be quiet, knowing that my parents' bedroom was above mine, but secretly try not to be quiet because I did actually want help. And then my mom would come downstairs in her nightgown and knock on my door, ask me if everything was okay, I'd probably throw really bear across the room or maybe sniffle and try and pull it together, then she'd make me some tea and we'd talk about it. But I'm a fucking adult now so the only part of that I can recreate tonight is this:

(no stuffed animals were harmed in the taking of this photograph)

All kidding aside, I'm a disaster right now. I'm supposed to move in less than three weeks and I don't have: A) a car yet, B) nearly enough money, C) a moving date, D) a job, or E) a plan for where to live after September 3rd, when my subletter moves in. I'm supposed to go meet the rest of my family on their Lake Placid vacation Wednesday-Sunday and have no idea if I should make the five hour drive to go or stay in the city and try and make money. I have no idea if the amount of money I'd make is worth the amount of money I'd spend. I have no long term plan for life. I have no realistic goals. I have not lost ten pounds. I have to get up in seven hours. My eyes hurt from crying. Really Bear is calling DYFS on me. And I'm fucking hungry again because its 3 am. 

I hope you all realize that in the short time it took for you to read this, you just became my surrogate mother. Congratulations, you're the proud parent of a whining, broke, 5'5", wayward actress. Have a cigar.

A

PS: I got my 20th follower today! Sorry to refer to you as family already, but welcome, it's always better to jump right in, right!?