Went to therapy last night, and told my therapist all about Rochelle tweeking and all, and asked hre what I should do! She said she could really understand how concerned I was, adn she told me about another therapist who does "interventions." I'd have to get together all of R's friends, family, the bitch, co-workers--anyone who's been affected by her drug abuse--and the therapist would train us all to confront R with how her tweeking has hurt us. We'd learn to do it in a loving way, but firm, and then at the end, we'd escort her to a treatment program for drug abusers. It gave me some hope. So I took the name and number of the therapist, and I think I'll talk to Joanie and Melissa about it. Someone's going to have to talk to the bitch, and I hope it isn't me.

My threapist also said she thought this would be especially hard for me because I always wanted my Dad to stop drinking, but I never could, and he never did, and he was always choosing alcohol over me. That made me cry, believe it or not. I'm such a fucking cry-baby. I didn't want to cry in front of my therapist--I wanted her to think I'm cool. I don't know, though, maybe in therapist-land crying is cool. Anyway, she said that probably part of my wanting to help R is seeing a second chance to try to win the battle of someone I love choosing between me and the high, since in the past I've always lost to the high. That kinda made sense. She told me to check out an Al-Anon meeting, but I don't want to. I've heard people talk about it and it just sounds too cult-ish. Lots to think about.

I made myself call the barracuda and ask about her "medical procedure." I really had to work to find out what it was about--she just kept acting like a martyr--"Oh it's just something that had to be done," "I'm not taking the pain medication they gave me, though they gave me ALOT for the PAIN." Anyway, it turns out she had "a staphoccoccus infection excised from a very private area." Or in other words she had a big ol zit on her butt! I guess she had an ingrown hair or something and they had to cut the whole disgusting thing out of her butt. So now she can't sit down for awhile. Hell, she never sat down before anyway--there is always something more important to do than sit! I can't wait to tell EVERYONE my poor Mother had a zit cut out of her butt, and wanted me to like fly to Pennsylvania to hold her hand or something, I guess.  Whatever.

Plern is working, so I'm going to tell Gigi first. She thinks her boyfriend is cheating on her. I gotta be there for her. That prick. Tomorrow, I'm gonna go to Joanie and Melissa's and see if they'll help me with Rochelle. Maybe I'll call the intervention therapist too and see what she recommends I do.