Family sucks.

Sometimes, I wish that I never had to speak to them again.

But I know that I actually couldn't handle that, so . . . you know. Gotta suffer.

The day after New Year's, we got the news that my paternal grandfather had died, so my dad and I packed up and drove to Florida. From New Jersey. With nothing but Carly Simon in the CD player.

And then things got worse.

What is it about death that brings out the worst in families? I guess fifty years of jealousy and competition just doesn't die.

Constant yelling, arguing, and spinning amongst all the adults . . . my cousins and I eventually fled to a bar.

And things didn't improve over the following week. I swear to God -- I was never so damned glad to come back to work. Although . . . at least it was nice and sunny in Tampa. The sun stayed up until 6pm. I miss that.

Last night, my dad started in on me about his mother -- my grandmother -- and what to say if she called me, because he's not speaking to her, and so forth and so on.

Lalalala . . . rain of blood and toads.

Thanks to whomever supplied that nifty phrase.

Anyway, my point is, kind of, that family crap just never ends, does it? I'm so tired of the incessant battling and the "my-way-is-the-only-way" attitude that each person has. I get that we're all entitled to our feelings, and we each have the right to own our emotions . . . but can't ANYONE step back and say, "Gee, I'm being an ass about this?"

Somebody's got to be the first to do it.

I declare myself officially withdrawn from the field of battle. Grandpop's dead. At least *he* gets to rest in peace.