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2002-05-26 | 10:30 p.m.

The not-in-laws are almost gone. I'm tired of every man for himself ("Oh, we're fine, we each had a cup of yogurt at the hotel"). I'm sick of divide and conquer. I want my family back, and on my terms. Tonight I made myself comfort food: French toast with peanut butter and jelly.

They come here and they kill themselves working on the backyard and then they resent us for not having done it first. What they don't know is that the back yard is a huge sore spot between Duff and me. If I say anything about the back yard, or wanting to do something with the back yard, he tells me to get the house in order first, then worry about the back yard. As you can imagine, this makes me furious, so over time I have learned not to mention it unless I am ready for an argument. (Yes, I know, that is not optimal communication. I'm not asking for advice, I'm just venting.)

My article, due yesterday, is not finished. I was doing an interview on Friday with a guy in Chicago and Jasper was running through the room, playing cars, and just about the time I got him calmed down--all of this taking place during the interview, mind you--Duff's father, who has unbeknownst to me let himself in through the side gate, fires up a fucking tree saw right outside the window.

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAARRRRRRWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!

"What's he doing," the contact laughs, referring to my three-year-old son, "cutting down a tree?" "Uh, it's the neighbor," I stammer, too ashamed to admit that my non-father-in-law is indifferent to the idea that I am doing legitimate work.

Duff tells me they lost half a mil in the stock market slide. I guess I should feel bad for them. Maybe tomorrow.

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