Queen of Infinite Space

I'm seriously freaking out about this and I don't know why. I have everything packed and ready to go. I cleaned my room so it's all nice for me when I come back. I've taken care of my bank account and my computer (his name is Harold)  and my phone so I could pretty much get in the car and leave now. And yet I'm upset and lethargic at the same time. I have my narniaexchange to finish up before I go, but it won't go from my head to the computer. Today I just spent a few hours staring at the wall and pretending to sort papers. Yesterday I wrote a whole bunch of angsty resentful Dean fic, because it pretty much matched how I was feeling. Nothing I think of to do can hold my attention for very long. Maybe it's just that I'm worried about leaving my old routine for a new one, but that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, since this current summer routine sucks.

okay, okay *breathe*

I need a hug or something.

I hate my stupid family. We were all going to go swimming in the pool out back (Well everyone else, obviously) when my dad storms in and declares that NO ONE is going anywhere until the living room is clean. And then he decides to micro-manage every single breath that we take and tells us exactly how we're doing it wrong. And THEN he says that because he needs to direct what's going on here, he's not getting laundry done so it'll be even longer before he can vacuum the leaves off the bottom of the pool. And somehow that's our fault. But whatever, he does that kind of thing all the time so we're used to it.

So. The living room is clean, and we even got all the crap off the stairs, so it should all be great. Everyone gets sunscreen and towels and goes outside. Finally I'm alone with no one to bother me, so I grab a book (A History of Modern Latin America, if you're interested) and listen to some music in my room. Suddenly, my little sister runs into my room and yells that I need to come to the back yard RIGHT AWAY. She tends to be a bit overdramatic, but she's six, so we can forgive her for that.

So I come outside, and Rebecca and Daniel are trying to put up a tent. It seems they needed to prove how prepared they are to set up camp when we go on our road trip next week BEFORE they can get in the pool. So they got a bit tangled with the poles and started yelling at each other, so my dad sent for reinforcements. And that's fine, I understand that, I really do. But as I tried to help them figure out what was going on, he was keeping up a running commentary of what we should be doing and how it was wrong. It was the living room all over again, but worse.

And now he's yelling at us "What can I do to help"