MW’s ex-boss called and told her there were some openings available were she still interested. Remember, when MW left work last September, it was because…. Well, I’m not exactly sure. Her head just wasn’t right. So the parting was amicable on both sides; they were sorry to see her go, and she wasn’t all “take this job and shove it”. So they agreed to keep in touch and, surprisingly, they did. Anyway, staying at home hasn’t put MW’s head “right” so she thinks going back to work may help get her mind off all the negative thoughts and worries. Who knows? She may be right. It seemed to work briefly when she started taking classes again. Of course it didn’t last long, nor do I expect it to last long if she does go back to work. Degenerative disease, yo.
I am of two minds about this situation: 1) MW working
means I get my weekends back. This would be exceptional. 2) MW’s condition has,
to my perception, deteriorated to the point where people could/might notice. So
how long will she be able to function in a work environment before being
confronted by someone who doesn’t have my flair for lying and equivocating?
Not that I have much choice. I tried in my oh-so-subtle
way to suggest she might not want to go back to work, but was rebuked in that I
wasn’t being supportive. Now I’m supportive. There’s a good chance it’ll mean
MW is going to find out she has HD sooner, but I’m supportive.
And here’s what happened with my foot: I got drunk Saturday
night and fell off bed-zilla. Recall that bed-zilla is two queen mattresses
shoved together in our sitting room where we sleep to ensure MW doesn’t bonk
her head against the wall. Plenty of room on bed-zilla to avoid most perils,
except when trying to transverse her on foot. And, as I said, I was well in my
cups at the time. I know I’m supposed to be off the booze, but the plan was to
start on Monday, and I had one bottle of wine
left, so I decided to empty that cupboard. Turns out the wine was absolutely awful, almost undrinkable, one of those
$3 Merlots they sell at Whole Foods, so to make it palatable, I mixed it with a
bottle of seltzer water and ice. Viola! Wine spritzer. Also awful, but easier
to drink.
And drink I did. Then I tried to walk across bed-zilla. I
wound up writhing in agony on the floor, my ankle swollen twice its size.
But I’m a caregiver. I can’t go down. I walked on the
goddamned thing all day Sunday, all day Monday, came home, took my sock off and
not only was it swollen, it had a streak of purple-black that runs from
one side of my heel to the other. What could cause that? I’m thinking a broken
bone somewhere in there. Oh well. I can hobble on it good enough. And there’s
no way I’m going to a doctor, so hopefully it’ll just set itself.
And now another fun filled weekend looms. Worse still – on
Sunday I have to tell MW about the trial in Austin and how I’ll be away a
couple of nights. All in all, not going to be a good Valentine’s weekend..
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