...and from close up, there is NOT.
Thank G-d Pesach only lasts for a week. If I had to deal with any more family-togetherness, in freaking MONTANA (read: with no viable means of contact with the outside world) for more than two weeks, I'd lose my mind. Very nearly have, but long solitary walks helped keep me somewhat sane.
I don't mind the Sibs so much; we get along pretty well most of the time, though we still know how to push each others' buttons when we want to. Nor, as I have explained, do I have much against Pa. It's mostly Ma, as usual. Ein chadash tachat ha-shemesh. Somehow, when I'm around her, I can never quite do anything right, up to and including keeping my temper in check. I don't generally outright argue, but I'll plead guilty to utilizing unpleasant facial expressions/nonverbal noises and muttering under my breath. I know, I know, not good, and I should be trying not to, kibud av v'em and all that...and I do try. I just don't succeed.
Somehow, I just can't put my finger on what it is about my mother that just gets to me. Partly it's the constant indirect criticism that does it (who wouldn't be driven crazy by that?), but even when she lays off a bit, something about being around her--especially for longer amounts of time--just seriously bothers me. And the fact that I'm seriously bothered by being around my own mother seriously bothers me. What kind of horrible daughter am I, that I can't abide being around my own mother?! So now, of course, aside from being irked by being in my mother's presence, I now have a guilt trip brought on by yours truly about it as well.
Still, it could have been far, far worse. So I'm going to shut up now and just thank G-d that I don't live at home.