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If I started listing all the things the evil grandma does to drive me up the wall I'd probably come across as petty and childish and paranoid. Because they are just little things. Little jellyfishy things. Or little dumb things. Or little frustrating things. But they all accumulate into one giant ball of--
Suffice it to say that the quantity of time I have been spending with her makes me want to punch myself in the face. Repeatedly. Because it would probably be more fun.
I could lie and say this isn't a bid for sympathy, but it really, really is. Show me the shiny things? :(
And I will go back to writing in the few minutes of free time I have left.