I woke up at nine or so, after three bad dreams in a row. (I think only one of them really qualifies as a "nightmare".) The first one involved me on some sort of reality TV show, where my roommate...well, turned out not to be quite what she seemed, and was an annoying, teasing bitch besides. I don't really remember the second one. In the third one, I was doing some sort of spy stuff with a hang glider; I landed on a cruise ship. Then two guys trapped me, stabbed me in the neck with a very large, very vicious knife, and started discussing how to torture me to death; I woke up with a white-hot pain on the side of my neck that took several minutes to fade.
Dad came in soon after and told me to take a shower before breakfast, since he'd be taking his after. So I got in the shower, but the hot water ran out after a few minutes. When I finally toweled off, dressed, and went downstairs, my breakfast was cold; everybody (except Dad) sat there and watched me eat, which was a bit disquieting. Then I had to go back upstairs, shave (which wasn't terribly easy, as my shaver was out of batteries and had to be plugged in), and put on my hoodie against the rain.
I talked to Liz and Jasmine a bit, but wasn't able to get anything meaningful done, besides tell Jasmine I didn't have much time but would be on later.
So, around 10:55, we've crammed ourselves into the car for the drive up to Beverly Hills. This takes an hour, during which Dad runs a stop sign and performs several other maneuvers that are fairly questionable in the rain. He also manages to chew me out for several things, such as not doing the research on parts for my car that Mom asked him to do.
Finally, we get to the restaurant. It's a place called Nibblers, a coffee shop with bad food and worse service. I get to see my little cousins and their parents, which is nice, and my grandparents, which is neutral, but I also have to deal with all sorts of random "relatives" I barely know, which is less than cool. By the end of this, at two or so, I'm feeling a bit drained.
So, we get back in the car and drive most of the way home, to Anaheim. There, we stop to visit my great-grandmother (we call her "Bubbie", which is actually Yiddish for "grandmother") and her husband, Al. (They married long after she had grandkids, and from day one he's bitched about being left out of everything, so naturally all of those complaints have come true.) My grandmother is fragile physically and almost gone mentally; she actually used complete sentences today, but it was the first time in a year or two she did much more than sit and smile during a visit. We gave them Hanukkah presents, which they opened, thne we sat around eating cookies. My brother and Grandma played with the cousins; Grandpa, Dad, Uncle Ken, Aunt Dawn, my sister, and Al largely sat around and talked; and Mom and I sat with Bubbie, holding her hands and listening to her as she watched the kids and occasionally made a comment about how cute one of them was.
Around five, it was time for her to have dinner; Grandpa and I walked her there, Uncle Ken pushed Al's wheelchair (which he doesn't really seem to need), and Mom trailed behind. I got a big hug and a kiss from Bubbie, a hug from Al, and a few comments from the adults on how...considerate, I think, I was. Some C word along those lines, at least.
So...at the end of this I'm pretty much at my limit, and want to go home and hop online to recharge. So does somebody else, IIRC. But three people (out of nine present, mind you) want to have dinner; we end up going to Chris & Pitt's, a barbecue place I'm not particularly fond of, but other people in the family are.
It turns out that Dad had a very good reason to vote against this--he had a hockey game he ended up missing. But he didn't speak up.
When we get there, I'm a zombie. Grandma tries to cheer me up, but she just takes more energy out of me.
I hate being an introvert--nobody understands that you're tired, not depressed, and that any attempts to "cheer you up" just makes it worse.
So, I eat my crappy chicken sandwich, play with one of the kids a bit, and finally am able to leave two hours later. We get home around seven-thirty.
By this time, Jasmine and I are both tired; I'm not in the mood to talk much, and I get a similar sense from her. Mrr.
So...that's been my day. I'm slowly recovering, but it feels like the damage is done.