More rain today. It's got to be frustrating for the farmers here in northeast Alabama—no rain all through the growing season, and just as they start to bring in what little cotton grew here this summer, the deluge (courtesy of tropical depression Helene) comes.

I called my folks last night—there was more to the story than what I'd been told. The problem is that the more I hear, the worse it sounds. Evidently my aunt Mildred's pretty much gone off the deep end—drinking heavily and not taking her lithium. I gather she got in a fight with my grandmother, and that my aunt also attacked my parents.

Thus my parents took her to the hospital. Again. She did what she does every time this happens—fights, screams, yells, curses, and tries to hurt anyone who comes near her. Apparently she directly attacked my parents, too. Because of how the laws are, the hospital can't keep her against her will. As soon as she's stable—meaning her lithium levels are back up—she can't be held against her will.

This hurts.

I'd intended for my commentary today to be about all the fun we had this weekend, but considering I just got back from the bathroom with red eyes and a sniffly nose, I think you can guess that it's the furthest thing from my mind right now.

I happened to think to check my home email account a few minutes ago, and got kicked in the pants by what I found. Mom emailed me at about one this morning to let me know about what happened this weekend. My aunt Mildred, the one who is battling bipolar disorder, shot her son (my cousin Clint) in the hand this weekend during an argument.

She swears it's an accident.

All I know is that I feel like someone kicked me in the stomach.

I just don't know what to make of this. I just don't. We've dealt with the problems of dealing with her problems for as long as I can remember, and I guess in my mind I've always hoped that it would never come to this—to violence. But evidently it has.

I finished Look to Windward tonight. I wish I knew exactly why Iain Banks' Culture novels aren't being published in the States. They're thoughtful works with a lot of depth—something that I think is lacking from everyday fiction in the States now.

It was a productive weekend.

The parents are safely back home in Arkansas; my house is clean; the dishes are washed and put away; and life is ready, thankfully, to get back to normal.

Since my parents and I only see each other every six months now, it's commonplace to see changes every time we DO see each other. I think I was most shocked this time by how much older my father looks. He is fifty-six now, and he looks much older. I think a lot of it is that his hair is completely white. Not that off-white yellow that some people get, but a shocking pure snow white.I'd rather have that than grey hair, actually.

My mother no longer colors her hair, for which I'm grateful. I've never really understood why women color their hair to hide grey. I'd say that my mother's hair is now 25% grey; I wonder how many of those I put there?

Well, I had a nice little bit of commentary ready to go for this evening, and then I decided to put it down and go do some other stuff for a while. I went to see X-Men with friends, and then chatted with the crew (tonight: Jeff, Katharine, Jessica, and Brian) over at the wondergeeks' apartment.

Then I came home and checked my email. Discovered that my sister's getting married in September. Needless to say, this is a bit of a surprise. She and her husband Jackie divorced in December of last year or January of this year—I don't know when the divorce became final. I didn't know that she was dating someone seriously. I now know that his name is Carl, but I don't know a last name.