Bitch, Bitch, Bitch

[Kelda]

That freaked me out as a small child. I mean, it was like, What were they trying to keep from getting out of that attic?     

 

Del, things will only get better as they say. i have my fingers crossed for you.

[delalluvia]

Thanks Kelda. 

Did you ever hear anything up in the attic, Jeff?  Creaking floorboards?  Knocking perhaps?

[Jeff Wrangler]

Did you ever hear anything up in the attic, Jeff?  Creaking floorboards?  Knocking perhaps?

Fortunately, no. Still, at the time I was little enough that I could refuse to sleep in that room with the "barricaded" door by myself and get away with it. My mother always shared it with me when we stayed overnight.

The really funny thing, I guess, was that many years later, when I was older, say, about 12 or so, I discovered that what that attic really held was lots of wonderful antiques, like the enormous family Bible that had been given to my great-grandparents at their marriage in 1897, a lovely washbowl and pitcher set, and a huge oak-and-gilt picture frame. Grandma didn't care for any of that stuff, so she let me take it.

I have since passed the Bible and the washbowl set on to cousins who will leave descendants, as I believe those things should remain in the family, but I still have the picture frame. I used it to frame a reproduction Currier and Ives steam train print.

Plus, after Grandma died and the house was cleaned out for sale, my mother brought home that old chest of drawers that had blocked the door. She thought I might want it!    It really was a beautiful old piece of furniture, but at the time I anticipated frequent moves and life in small apartments, and I considered it too large a piece of furniture to be practical. I forget who Mother gave it to, and, honestly, I don't regret not keeping it.

[delalluvia]

Dear mom,

I know you want to do things sometimes for your own edification or own reasons, but please do not attempt to do something if you cannot do it ALL.

e.g.

if you plan on clearing out the closet shelves looking for a lost item, please do not throw everything on the floor, find what you need, then turn to me and say,'Oh can you pick that up?"

 

I did pick it up.  I washed, dried, folded and put all the linens in there 3 days ago.  I do NOT appreciate you making more work for me to clean up by just throwing things on the floor when it's too much trouble for you to deal with.  If it's too much trouble for you to put everything back the way you found it, let ME do it, so I don't have to clean up a new mess.

 

[Shuggy]

People charging into the elevator as soon as the doors open.....  knocking  you down as you are trying to get out!

You beat me to it. But likewise trains. And just crowding round the door so there's nowhere for you to go.

[delalluvia]

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  

So FUCKING frustrated with my mom I want to scream.

She's nearly invalid, has shown every desire to keep living by trying new medicines, new doctors, new treatments, but she abso-fucking-lutely refuses to help herself in any other way.

She needs to eat to keep up her strength.  But she needs to eat things that are NOURISHING.

Left to herself, she'd live on cream cheese and crackers.

When nurses, relatives and homecare workers come over, they're appalled at what she eats - she's living on the energy the sugar and carbs give her -

Popsicles, ice cream bars, cookies, waffles, milk, croissants and cream cheese, are her main diet.

The house is bursting with all kinds of food.  So I prepare her things.

She'll take half a bite of the eggs, or sausage or steak or chicken or tuna I've given her, with slices of fresh oranges or bananas, cup of pomegrante juice and turn them away.

"I'm too breathless to eat.  I'll eat it later."

So I put it all away.

Later comes and she says, "Bring me some cookies and cream cheese."

I reply, "Why don't you finish your dinner?"

"Because I'm nauseated."

It's like talking to a fucking 5 year old.

"Well, if you're too nauseated to eat your dinner you're too nauseated to eat cookies and cream cheese."

"But I'm not too nauseated for that."

"Mom!  You need to eat something!"

"Well bring me the cream cheese and cookies -."

"You need to eat something GOOD."

She waves at me in dismissal, hauling out the emotional blackmail,

"Don't bring me anything then, I'll just go to bed."

Needless to say, I stomp to the kitchen, get her her goddamned cookies and cream cheese and toss her dinner in the trash.  I bring it to her and say,

"Fine, and when you get too weak and end up in Emergency again, don't you come crying to me."

I just want to fucking strangle her.

You start to get the attitude of 'Fine, go, starve to death' and then people wonder why you're so blase and why you aren't trying harder to help your invalid mother...

[delalluvia]

Now I know why I don't have a green thumb.  

Goddamn yard has goddamned poison ivy SOMEwhere.  I broke with it two weeks ago.  Ugly hives on my legs that will take a fucking 6 months to heal up and the discoloration on my skin to fade will take a couple of years longer unless I use fade cream.

I would like and want to wear shorts this summer and dresses and skirts to work.  But who wants to look at my legs all covered with gross welts?  

And just when I thought the worst was over, the itch was slowly slowly starting to fade, the hives to calm down...I broke today with at least 5 NEW weepy hives.  Where the FUCK did I pick it up?  I haven't been out in the garden since the last infestation.  So it has to be somewhere else.  On a piece of clothing I haven't washed, or a piece of clothing that TOUCHED another piece of clothing I haven't washed, or a pair of shoes or a throw or I don't know what.

I miss my hermetically sealed and clean apartment.  Fuck this gardening shit.  

  

[delalluvia]

I live in my mom's house - my and my sister's house now, I mean  - and it's heated and fueled mostly by gas.  The gas guys have been working down the street from my house for a few days now.  I've just recently discovered - no thanks to any sort of notices from them - that they've been turning my gas off to help facilitate whatever the fuck it is that they're doing.

And guess what? Does it ever occur to the morons that some gas-fueled houses have appliances that contain such a thing as a pilot light? So when they turn off the gas, then turn it back on, these don't relight automatically and instead just start happily spewing natural gas into someone's home?

Apparently not. They've done it twice to me in two days. Each time I call and bitch to the company, they have no fucking clue that there is anyone from their own company working near my street at all.

Their helpful hints aren't helpful - upon telling the girl I can't wait for the guy to come turn off my gas because I have to leave to go back to work - she suggested I leave the door open to ventilate.

Excuse me?

Right, leave my house empty with the door open.  That's fucking helpful.

Am I surprised those poor people in San Bruno, CA who had smelled gas for days and reported it to their gas company were still were blown and burned to Kingdom Come?  Nope.

I'm sitting right now waiting for them to come out and return on my gas and worrying about the next time they decide to shut my gas off, then back on while I'm not home and gas my cats to death or blow up the house.

[Front-Ranger]

That sounds downright scary friend! As the subsequent news has proven, gas can be dangerous!! Keep nagging until the company pays attention!!

[Kelda]

how is the house these days del?