In which I am pinesol flavored pathetic

I know the following is more than my allotment of pathetic for the remainder of the year and possibly even my lifetime. However, it's one in the afternoon, I've been up since... three or four, I don't remember, and the faint smell of Pinesol has been bugging me for the last... sixteen hours or so. Also, two grilled cheese sammiches in that entire time is not enough to keep blood sugar high enough to keep the massive case of the potential weepies at bay. Why do I live down the street from a fried chicken place when fried chicken makes me sick? And it's not even the good (if one can consider fried chicken good) place for mashed potatoes. :(

Sigh. Anyway. Back to the pathetic.

Due to my brother's horrendous taste in girlfriends, the weekend was spent cleaning and basically trying to prove that while slob + 2 very arthritic adults and His Royal Majesty = chaos, it does not equal a home so horrible that Widge does not belong here. This is the nicest way I can put this. So we cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned. It was not a super awesome fun way to spend the weekend as you might imagine.

Today was the day they were to make their decision. I 'hid' in my room because it's easier to scare people off from the inside than out. It worked. Thing is, I have no idea how it went. No one's told me anything because I haven't seen anyone.

So I'm hungry and worried and nervous and a little on the shaky side because what if it went badly and... I don't know. This whole situation sucks and it pisses me off but I know if I sit and give in to the anger, I will say or do something infinitely regrettable.

But it's weird being in this freakishly clean (in parts) house that now echoes. Since the sun has been on extended holiday for the last... month, it's also a little creepy.

None of this is the pathetic part.

That's reserved for the wish, the big, fat, giant wish that I could talk about this to Ryan. Not necessarily boyfriend era Ryan. Just... righteously indignant on behalf of his friend and the Widge Ryan. But he doesn't exist to me anymore. And I can't fix that and I can't get that back, and I could say that it doesn't bug me all that much anymore, but then... something like this comes up and I miss him. I miss my friend who wouldn't somehow manage to make me feel worse and might even get me to laugh, even just for a second.

And then I have to turn around and wish that Maine kicks his ass just for adding extra pain to my craptacular weekend.

Sooner or later this won't hurt as much, at least his part of it. The wanting to throttle little miss Baker, however, will not go away ever.