If you've read my previous posts you'll know that tomorrow I have to decide whether to a) stay in my abusive workplace for another year of shit work for no pay b) try to get another job under less-than -ideal conditions, maybe having to move back to Australia to live with my abusive family c) pack it in for good, like in a Willa Cather story*. Still haven't figured that one out. This morning I found out that my Gramps died. No one bothered to inform me for 3 days because I'm being semi-shunned (not in a formal, religious sense, more just :"please don't talk to us until we can be sure your failure germs won't rub off on us.") by my family. I loved Gramps when I was young. He taught me to read when I was four. My username here comes from a story in anthology of literary texts - his last present to me at 17. However, we hadn't spoken in about 6 or 7 years, since my "failure". I'm on the shit-list until I pull myself up by the bootstraps. So I don't know how to feel. Do depression and suicidal tendencies make us crass and uncaring? Does it matter? Should we try to have the "right" emotions, when the world so clearly condemns us for our lack of "proper" expression anyway? I'm trying to work up to something more than I'm feeling now. * Paul's Case, also in Gramp's anthology.