Sigh.

Well, it's the morning of Oliver's trial. All night, my stomach felt like there was a thunderstorm going on inside it. Blame long-hidden family loyalty, blame the salmon at Silver Diner, I haven't the first clue.

Goodness.

He's a minor but not insignificant danger to society who did his best to make me miserable for many years but whose incarceration will really hurt my family.

At this point, I don't even know what to wish for.

So I'm wearing my most innocent-looking blue suit and making little bargains with my body (There can be no more throwing up after we take our birth control pill, deal?) like a mother with a misbehaving child and few emotional resources.

I showed up at my mother's door and she matter-of-factly suggested baking soda in my Dasani bottle.

Now she's barking at my other brother, saying into the phone "Of course you have to come. Your sister is really sick and SHE'S coming!"

Ever the good example.

CC