There you go. I'm not a monster after all. In fact, I'm doing God's work.
And that motherfucker owes me big time for this.
***
Anyway, for now, I'm Saint Wayne - snugly tucked in my hair-shirt, lying to and deceiving MW for His great glory. Hallelujah!
It can't last, of course, but then I've been saying that for years. But if it is going to end soon, one of these will likely be the reason:
- Unemployment
- Insomnia
- Foot pain caused by walking "wrong"
- Diet
- Cockroaches
Not necessarily in that order. In terms of actual severity; cockroaches would probably be #1.
MW absolutely looses her shit when she sees a tree roach. Even a dead one; if it's in the house, she's terrified. She won't enter the room until I've gone ahead to make sure it's clear. She can't sleep worried they'll come for her in the night. She had me go around and duct-tape every seal around the light fixtures and doors we don't use. She'll talk for hours, recalling every roach she'd ever seen it the house; where it was, what it was doing....
She's one tree-roach away from institutionalization.
***
Foot pain. MW likes to run around the house, chasing after the little dog. Whenever I hear them playing, it sounds like our floor is being stampede by a football team. It's just a matter of time before she falls or knocks into something with disastrous results.
***
Unemployment, diet and insomnia are on-going concerns. Any of them could put her over. She's also been getting these pimples on her face - she blames them on her diet - and they upset her beyond reason.
***
Let's not forget erratic movements, in-coordination, and carelessness. She'll leave the stove top on more often than she turns it off these days and I cannot just hand her anything anymore. I have to grab her hand, place the item there, and make sure her fingers have closed around it before I let go. Oddly, she doesn't recognize these behaviors as "wrong". When I remind her that she left the stove on, or when she drops things, she just laughs it off.
Everything else causes extreme anxiety, but the actual, undeniable symptoms don't even register.
Mysterious ways, I guess. Now that I'm a saint, I'd better get used to them.
