NYC Cynic will be cynical elsewhere.

My phone has officially crapped out. It's not entirely the phone's fault. In a mad rush to leave my meeting over the weekend (which went REALLY well by the way) and hop on the next subway downtown, I dropped my phone in a puddle at E65th and Third.

Awesome.

[Sorry to those I had plans with/was trying to make plans with/promised phone calls that never occured. Had I not been such a fucktard, shit would've worked out better. Or I like to think it would've.]

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So the New York City Cynic might just have to be her cynical old self (and possibly even more cynical than ever) back in her old homestead. Until God knows when.

Things with my dad have taken a turn for the worse. He's in another coma (I swear, he's only doing this to keep me on my toes) and my step-mom, the nurse, is no help... ironically.

My sister is falling apart, my brother is "disappearing" like he always does when shit goes down that he doesn't know how to handle. And trust me, if I could do it, I would be disappearing too. It's what we thick-headed Irish do. Shit gets tough, I pour another drink and slip into a world where I don't have to deal, because I don't want to deal, and I don't know how to deal.

But someone has to be the adult here. And that someone is almost always me. So in the next few days I will be deciding on whether or not I am OK with taking a leave of absence from my job, letting my lease run out, and moving all my shit, an entire apartment's worth and a few pets into a shoebox sized bedroom until shit either ends or gets better.

I sound really bitter and blunt about this whole thing, I'm sure. But I cannot let myself get too "down" about it anymore. It's too depressing, too draining, and gets me nowhere in the end anyway.

Taking this all with a sense of realism and being prepared for all things. A miracle, and the worst.