Safely back at home, let's recap the last 24 hours

I'm alarmed that I keep setting new standards for exhaustion. Here's what I endured:
1) walking an hour in pouring sleet...
2)...with a heavy bag around my neck...
3)...only to be told the party I came for was cancelled
4) no, I didn't get the messages...but I was almost there anyway
5) there was precious little food to eat in the house
6) desperate for hot apple pie, I walked a few blocks to Burger King at 11:15pm...again, in driving sleet...only to see only the drive-thru was open till midnight
7) that's right, I walked up to the drive-thru window...and was promptly waved away by a greasy bitch with a broom
8) stood in the empty parking lot for a minute, getting soaked by sleet, pondering where to get food at 11:30pm without a car in a ferocious sleet storm
9) briefly mulled stepping into one of the many trashy blue-collar bars within walking distance for a much-needed beer
10) decided not to walk several minutes to Dunkin Donuts, instead sludging back to my parents', where I binged on girl scout cookies
11) slept in my old bedroom on a flower-powered chaise longue that was too short for my body because, years later, it somehow still hasn't been converted to a guest bedroom
12) finally got to sleep around 4am, after stumbling upon the end of CARRIE, which mildly depressed me for reasons I can't begin to get into
13) woken up roughly 3 hours later by dad, who, naturally, proceeds to start loudly chipping away at the ice accumulation...
14)...which he should NOT be doing due to his little heart condition
15) never really get back to sleep, instead hearing increasing number of shovels and ice picks, along with worrying over dad's shoveling exertion
16) once up, after an abbreviated breakfast, proceed to spend about 90 minutes shoveling/ice picking out the driveway, side alley, and car on street -- sweat and agony ensue
17) hear of dad having "an episode" of some kind while shoveling this morning -- upon questioning, learn it involved dizziness.
18) yell at dad
19) just as I sit down to enjoy corned beef and cabbage dinner, dad rises, mutters something, walks into living room..."something's not right"
20) informs me and mom he feels lightheaded and tired, probably due to nerves
21) no, does NOT wanna go to the hospital
22) my dinner becomes an ulcer-inducing, high-tension monitoring of dad's every move...
23)...as he paces, sits, paces, sits, has a Scotch, swears he'll be fine, vows never to shovel again after we all mutually agree it's his assinine decision to exert himself that is somehow causing this latest "episode"
24) I yell at him repeatedly and suggest he be tranquilized for his nerves...and that I should be, too, probably
25) casually reminds us of the guy across the street who, a few years ago, shovelled, went inside, and dropped dead
26) mom casually informs me of the Irish hymn she wants played at her funeral
27) I thank them both for a lovely, relaxing meal
28) despite being depleted on every level, still must endure ShopRite for a few things
29) naturally, begins to snow shower my entire ride home, adding to treacherous conditions
30) unable to easily get into parking space, spend another 30 minutes shoveling/ice picking
31) crestfallen to see Dipshit's home, walk inside, turn on tea kettle, and am instantly annoyed by him, despite a curious, though welcome, lack of direct talking to me
32) sip tea, drink Pepsi, eat various things, relax all night long while NEVER having been more glad to be home...despite Dipshit's always-grating presence

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ROLL CREDITS