Time & Time Again, I Take It All & Take The Fall For You (aka “Fuckapalooza”)

-sorry Dad, I’ve got a potty mouth. 😛
Yesterday: "’Don’t count your chicks before they hatch.’ So goes the old adage. That is good advice. But then, if you know how many eggs you have and you don’t make any effort at all to construct a hen-house, you may have to make adjustments in a hurry when those little beaks start breaking through the shell. Is there some way that you can now psychologically prepare yourself for a likely development without investing so much emotional or financial energy that you end up feeling bad if no chickens come? A rare ‘Cosmic Cross’ is coming soon! This ‘T-Square’ will bring change to the world… and it will bring change to YOUR life. If you’re ready for it, it can be a time of unparalleled opportunity."
Today: "How do you make a square egg? Cook it and cut it into shape. How do you make sweet words sound harsh? Say them in the wrong tone of voice. There’s an old Japanese saying that, more or less, says this. We can turn almost anything in this world into something very different if we want to… and sometimes, we can do it even when we don’t especially want to. Our creativity is not always conscious and deliberate. Watch how you are using yours this weekend. Be wary of your own power to bring about a powerful transformation."
Things are really beginning to grate, on all sides. I love my Mom dearly, and I think that’s a point that I need people to understand. I know Mother’s are pretty much designed to irritate us to death past 14, but this is overkill. We spend so much time every day talking about her broken leg. She has recounted the story so many times that she has begun to inflate details and forget them altogether. She told Dan yesterday that after she broke it she was laughing hysterically at the EMTs for being such a dope. She wasn’t laughing. She was crying, in a rather embarrassing state of shock, nearly unconscious and moaning and crying. She was not a trooper, she was a mess. And anyone in that situation should be. Initially, I’ll admit, she could have behaved worse, or more dramatically- she was mostly passed out. Her spirits picked up after they gave her drugs- but that was at least an hour later, if not two. Now she’s talking about suing the hospital because she didn’t have the sense (or we, whatever) not to walk through a construction area.
She trudges through the house with her walker so loud and hard that she knocks stuff down off of shelves because of the vibrations in the floor. She drags the walker along instead of picking it up and wheeling it- so she often rips things up off the floor, like cords, and complains that the house is a mess, which is directed at me, as I seem to be the only person making an effort to do anything without being asked. She expects it from me to the point that I get given shit if I don’t. I have to constantly remind her that my heart is not doing so good. Getting off of the couch lately has been a chore- it spikes my heart rate so hard that I can’t breathe and I get overwhelmingly dizzy very quickly. I’ve needed to spend most of my day laying down or even asleep to even achieve an hour or two of feeling normal, and she expects me to use that hour in servitude to her. I’m 37 days away from my wedding and I have a million and ten things do to that don’t include being her slave. Thank God for this coming week- John and I are escaping to the valley for 7 days. I’m hoping I’ll feel well enough to assist the family with some things.
I actually feel stellar today. I’m eating small bits every few hours to do it, and sleeping on a very set schedule for the last two days- but that seems to be working for me. However, that means not being woken up at 7am every morning to drag the wheelchair out the front door. Freya has been nice enough to do that, since she picks Mom up and takes her to work every day. Mom tripped over a dog toy at 4am and started screaming and complaining about how she’s the only one with a fuckin’ job, so why can’t people clean the fuckin’ house? Sorry, but for the last three weeks the most exercise she’s been getting is taking a piss twice a day. I was up for 3 hours after that because she woke me up. I had class at 9:30 this morning. Thanks. She tried baby-voicing an apology through her bedroom door after she slammed it and a bunch of my things crashed to the floor. I had to pick up half a box of spilled corn meal off of my carpet at 4am. Again- thanks. I couldn’t leave it because the house has a historic problem with rodents if there is any food whatsoever left in a room for any amount of time.
I’m just really tired of being bossed around when I feel so sick. I’m supposed to be responsible for cooking for 4 people and cleaning up after them. Mom wants me up and cleaning while she’s at work, and then the minute she gets home she demands I make dinner. She demands it so much that she asks me how long it will be every 7 minutes, like fucking clockwork. Then she wants me to do dishes and follow people around turning off lights. And when I’m not doing all of that, she wants me to feed and water the dog and cat, walk the dog, bathe the dog, play with the dog and groom the dog. I love the dog, but she isn’t my dog. I have no time to do anything if I don’t protest and go on strike. That’s besides the point anyhow, because I can’t even stand for a few minutes at a time without passing out. Granted, today I feel really good, but I get tired after a few hours because of the heart rate issue, and dehydrated like you wouldn’t believe.
I’m so tired of my health problems taking a backburner whenever her leg is sore, or she’s tired and cranky. And I am really tired of her asking me to do really gross shit. Like inspect rashes along her underwear line, or scraping dead skin off of her feet. There is a line. I’m not saying she’s not in pain and I’m not saying her situation doesn’t matter. But mine does too, and that gets no recognition whatsoever unless I’m in the hospital. This "problem" of mine could be a very serious medical condition that requires intestinal and heart surgery, and she’s freaking out because of a stray dog toy that she bought? What am I supposed to do, lock up the dog toys and punish Leeloo if she doesn’t put her toys away when she’s done playing? I already groomed the dog and box trained the dog. Give me a fucking break.
Oh and I really loved the years of being chastised by my sister about my weight, body image, budgeting and spending habits, boyfriend troubles and priorities, only to have her come up to me complaining about her boyfriend, her funny new cellulite and being broke all the time even though she has a full-time job. I know her world has grown a lot because she wasn’t an adult before– but an apology would be nice.
I just really needed to bitch it out because I have a feeling that all the stress in my life is an enormous contributing factor to this problem of mine. And most of all, I’m pissed because this is really physically limiting. I’ve lost twenty pounds in two weeks. That’s seriously physically taxing. It took two months to recover the last time that happened to me. I was hoping to go caving this summer for the July Horne Lake reunion campout, and do the extreme spelunk with John, Sterling and Bren. We’ve been planning it since last July. If I’m even allowed to go in the cave at all- it’ll be a fucking shock.

~ by Kд§$ị (ИovΔ) on 05/21/2010.

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