It’s so quiet in here, I can here the bubbles fizzing and popping in the can of Diet Coke with Lime on the table next to me. That doesn’t happen too often here at Supergenius Headquarters. Usually Sister #4 is here talking all the time with the nonstop talking about nothing at all that must be said out loud for reasons nobody can understand.

Six weeks I tell myself, six more weeks and the she’s off to Idaho. I feel guilty taking so much joy in her departure. I keep trying to convince myself that I’m happy for her, for her making this right decision in her life. But I can’t even kid myself. I’m even more happy for me. Moving in with her was probably the worst decision I’ve made in a long, long, long time. I completely misjudged my levels of patience and tolerance. More than that I had no idea how very much I enjoy my solitude.

This weekend has been utterly delightful. Sister #4 and her never-shut-mouth went to Wisconsin for a wedding. I am dreading her arrival home.

Yesterday it took all the power I had not to start packing up her shit for her. I figured it would probably be rude to do that to her. And, I know that I can’t be the one to take care of all that stuff for her, which is exactly what she wants. She needs to a learn a little bit about responsibility.

We’ve already had one major fight about her moving. She seems to think it’s totally mean of me not to let her leave her shit here. See, she can’t afford to move her California King waterbed and all the accompanying bullshit circa 1987 crap furniture with her. She thinks she should just be able to leave it here until she feels like fetching it.

I, of course, think that is total bullshit. Why the hell should I have to hold all her crap? Crap that she’ll realize is crap in about 2 years. I know a $10 dining room table from a garage sale might seem charming when you’re 25, but when you’re 28 you’re gonna hate it. But will she listen to me?

Oh God No. Instead she starts to cry and say that maybe she won’t move after all. I freak the fuck right out and cave in to her petty demands. She can keep her crap in the garage just as long as she gets the hell out.

Now everyone keeps asking me what I’ll do if she wants to move back in a year. I can’t even contemplate it. I keep telling myself I will cross that bridge if/when it happens. I know I don’t want her back here. But knowing that and telling my sister she can’t live here are two different things.

Blech.

Six more weeks.