Unrelated to that statement; last night MW swerved the car into a curb. Hard. Only cosmetic damage, fortunately, but how it came about was unsettling.
MW is very concerned about the lives of our cross-the-street neighbor. She's never once talked to them, but believes the man of the house dumped his girlfriend (maybe wife) for a younger girlfriend (maybe wife) and is now putting himself at financial risk trying to make the young girl happy by buying her new cars and renovating their house. MW may be right about this, but I really don't care and try very hard to steer her away from watching them through the window then talking about what she sees. In fact, when the younger girl moved in, I spent a whole lot of time trying to convince MW that the man of the house probably didn't actually kill his old girlfriend (maybe wife) to get rid of her. I'm not sure I was 100% successful, but at least if MW still thinks he's a drug-dealing murderer, she keeps it to herself.
This sounds like a joke or a quirky little sit-com scenario, but it's not. MW actually lost sleep worrying our cross-the-street neighbor killed his girlfriend (maybe wife) to replace her with younger tail. Well, maybe it is funny. I'm just too tired to know the difference anymore.
Anyway, last night the younger girlfriend (maybe wife) was driving up while MW was pulling out and they wound up with their cars at awkward positions on the street. Eventually the situation righted itself and MW was able to drive away, but the encounter unnerved her so much that, when talking about it, she got flustered and ran the car into a curb.
Hard.
What if it wasn't a curb? What if it had been another car? How much longer can I let this go on?
Somebody? Anything? Help?
Right.
So, back to why I hate this time of year: they locked up the park behind the Houston Historical Society to prepare for some stupid holiday party and I can't walk under Jane Ellen's tree anymore. This is fucking brutal. First, understand that Jane Ellen's tree has been called the most beautiful tree in Houston and I wouldn't disagree. A grand, sprawling oak with heavy branches that crawl across the ground as well as clusters of limbs and leaves that cast ever-changing patterns of shadows. The word for it is magnificent. I used to eat my lunch on a bench there, but since we've moved offices, I only have time enough to walk over for a quick visit. Still, it is invariably the high point of my day.
Also, I've decided that's where I want my ashes spread when I die; under Jane Ellen's tree. I'm sure this is against some law - so many bullshit laws these days - and it may not happen, but it makes me feel good, walking under that amazing tree, feeling the peace and calm of that swath of dappled ground.
Someday....
But now, because of these goddamned holidays, even that little sliver of serenity has been locked away. Brutal.
***
Update: Just got off the phone with MW. As soon as I picked up she asked if I ever lost my balance.Oh, I know the answer to this one: Yes, I loose my balance all the time. Lots of things can cause that. It is nothing to worry about.
Then she asks if loosing your balance is a sign of age.
?
Well, I say, sure. It can be easier to loose your balance as you get older.
No, she corrects me, not "age", but "H". You know. "H".
She means Huntington's - she just won't say the word.
No. Of course not. Loosing your balance can be so many other things than "H". It isn't even a recognized symptom of "H". It's nothing to worry about.
On and on and on.
And I'm sure I'll be talking about this tonight when I get home.
Something to look forward to.
2014.12.14
What was it last night, Wayne? What little bit of nothing kept MW up all night worrying? Hemorrhoids? Pimples? Mouthwash? Tell us, please. It is sooooo interesting.
Right. This has become repetitive. But here's what keeps me in the game: a few night ago, just after lights-out, MW started coughing/choking. Lights-on now and she's worried.
The coughing had been caused by what she felt was food in her throat. Why? She ate hours ago? Should there still be food in her throat?
Of course, I tell her. Happens to me all the time. I'll cough/choke on food anytime, anywhere. Perfectly normal behavior.
This abates the worry and, eventually, MW sleeps.
Me? I stay awake thinking, wondering - God, I'm such a good liar. Maybe even good enough to let HD kill MW before she even figures out what's really going on? And wouldn't that be a coupe.
What the fuck am I doing? Helping MW or the disease? And is there even a difference anymore?
***
Home from work, hit the door, head to the sink and start washing dishes to cook diner. MW stops me, pushes me aside saying she'll clean and cook for herself tonight. I know nothing good will come from that, but what choice do I have? I try to sound cheerful and suggest she let me take care of it while she relaxes in front of the television. No soap. She'd been sitting in front of the TV all day and got annoyed, maybe thinking I was making fun of her laziness.
So I backed off and let her have the kitchen.
When she'd finished, I went in to cook my diner. The dishes were covered with soap bubbles and many had chunks of food still stuck to them. So I had to wash them again, being very careful not to let MW see me doing so or else, I knew, she'd get pissed. Complain about how useless I am when it comes to taking care of the house and how she's the only one who really knows how to clean and I should just let her take care of everything.
I've received that rant before, lots of times, and it really kills an evening.
So I was sneaking around the sink, washing on the fly, when she complains about there being chicken in her food. Turns out she'd prepared the wrong frozen meal and had already eaten half of it before noticing.
Now this is real trouble. She is certain she won't be able to sleep because the frozen meal she'd just ate had too much sugar.
Quickly I dumped what was left in the trash and assured he she really hadn't eaten much, not enough to make a difference, and started cooking the correct meal.
She seamed dubious, but after around a dozen more reassurances that she would be able to sleep, she calmed down.
Part one. Part two came when, close to bed-time, she asked for one of her floss picks to wedge some food from between her teeth. Oh no! The floss is coated with a mint flavor - a mint flavor that certainly contains sugar!
She grabs a roll of toilette tissue, wads up a fistful and crams it in her mouth to blot out the mint flavor.
Oh now. Now for sure she won't be able to sleep what with all the sugar in her body.
This time the story has a happy ending. It was another one of those odd, but welcome! nights where MW fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. I honestly don't understand it - she seemed so riled up just before I turned off the light, but within moments I hear snoring. No complaints, it's just kind of weird. Anyway, she did wake up a few times during the night to ask how long she'd slept, but these interruptions were short and, overall, she got a good nights' sleep.
2014.12.09
Yesterday MW got criticized at work for taking sloppy notes and her manager suggested she speak with more enthusiasm when talking to customers on the phone.
Disaster.
She spent the evening in a near panic state; worrying she'd be fired, wondering if the boss hates her, trying out voices that sound more enthusiastic.... Fortunately she did calm down enough to get a full night's sleep, but it brought to light the fact that, though I can shield her from the disease while around the casa, at work she's on her own. I can't prevent her coworkers from addressing the fact that she's slowly loosing her mind. Entering sloppy notes in the computer, for example, won't improve. That'll just get worse. And talking to customers on the phone - which is the biggest part of her job - will also get worse as the stuttering, slurring, and dementia take hold.
I watched MW as she railed against the evaluation last night. When excited, her face contorts into a frightening grimace and her body movements - arms and hands especially - are disjointed and erratic. She looks like a girl from one of those stop-motion Japanese horror films. Chor-Ring-ah.
"Thank you for calling! How can I help you!" she wails, a grotesque smile on her face, her voice a parody of eagerness. Then she asks if that sounded enthusiastic enough. That's how, she says, she'll have to answer the phone from now on. Especially when talking to people with Spanish names because her boss is a Mexican and those people look out for each other.
She's not joking.
***
Fifteen years ago my brother-in-law wrote a book. He's been editing it ever since. Now, once again, he's started emailing me asking for comments and critiques. I've already read the damned thing, many times, so I skimmed the revision and spouted off some lame, rehashed advice. Truth is I've lost all interest in writing and literature. Oh, I still read, but only old science fiction and mysteries. That's about all I can handle these days. Makes me wonder how much damage I did staying so drunk for so long?Besides, my bro-in-law hasn't seen his sister in over a year. None of her family has seen her, or even spoken with her, in over a year. You would think he'd ask about that instead of his stupid book. Hell, I might have killed her and buried the body in our backyard for all they know. Useless tits.
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