I mean—hell, I been surprised how sane you guys all are. As near as I can tell you’re not any crazier than the average asshole on the street…”   (from Nicholson’s character in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest)

I think the universe intended for me to go to that intense yoga class that resulted in a huge release early in the week to prepare me for what was coming.  I honestly do.

Little Red Riding Hood (my Mom with Alzheimer’s) had to go to the hospital yesterday via ambulance because we couldn’t get her to walk or get up and because she doesn’t really communicate, we couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

She is still in the hospital and depending on how she recovers (apparently certain infections can make dementia worse.  Who knew?), she may or may not be able to go home since she seems to have advanced to the next stage.  Either way, the next shoe is starting to drop and I have been in full gear researching facilities and options. (These are times when I miss my sister the most.)

Hospital visits were beyond bizarre for various reasons, but mainly because 1) hospitals in Denver were full due to the flu and we were diverted to a less full hospital which was still quite full and 2) she is in a room where they put 4 people who need 24/7 “sitters” (for people who don’t understand what is going on and might try to get up and then fall).

It was like I was in a strange movie that was so awful it was almost funny.  I kept waiting to hear Jack Nicholson’s voice.

Here are some highlights:

-One of Mom’s roommates had his own sitter right by his bed at all times which made me uneasy.  He was listening to Jimmy Hendrix music and blurting out aggressive sounding phrases.  I swear to you I thought he was going to pull out a shank from under his mattress.   And he sort of had the Jack Nicholson look going on.

-Another roommate kept asking for a beer and pointing to what he thought was a beer Stein hanging up on the wall (it was actually a piece of medical equipment that did look like a Stein) and wanted us all to see it. He was the cutest and sweetest little man I’ve ever seen.  I wanted to go buy him a six pack and make his day.

-Two of the Certified Nurse Assistants (the sitters) were absolutely darling.  They have hearts of gold and I wanted to adopt them. One named Flora from the Philippines told me all about her family’s plantation in the Philippines where they grow rice.  She said if someone made $750 a month in the Philippines they would be so rich they could have five maids.

-Another of the sitters I’m guessing was from South America and was determined to find something that my Mother would eat.  We finally landed on chocolate cake and Pepsi once I got there today and shared my mother’s strange eating preferences. Worked like a charm.  Some things are never forgotten.  She also told me I have my mother’s nose and she bet my Mom was quite pretty when she was younger.  She was right.  I told her she was a beauty queen in high school.

-The unfriendly nurse (who was clearly put-out with any question I asked) was seriously channeling Nurse Ratched.

-Another one of Little Red Riding Hood’s roommates kept asking for cottage cheese over and over and seemed sad. He had a huge scar across his head.  I wanted to give him a hug but he was on the side of the room by the guy I was worried had a shank under the mattress.  This roommate’s mother came and visited him and my heart ached for her.

-There were four TVs going at the same time, plus the Jimmy Hendrix music, plus the beer and cottage cheese requests and medical chatter.  Enough uncoordinated noise to make an undiagnosed ADD person with sensitive hearing lose it. but I didn’t.

-Little Red Riding Hood has not lost her ability to sarcastically roll her eyes and did so every time a room mate blurted something out. This cracked me up.  Apparently she thought the rest of the group was crazy, not her.  Again, some things never change.

-She petted and squeezed the cute little beanie baby dog nonstop from the second I brought it in from the gift shop.  This made me happy because it made her happy.

-I’m damn sure figuring out a way to go to yoga today.

Thanks as always for reading…  Hug or call whatever family you have this weekend and tell them you love or appreciate them — even if they drive  you nuts.

dotted with the white wisps of cloud

like the blood that taints the shroud

of the corpse with a smile so wry

one could hear the sound of the cry

emanating somewhere from the crowd

dotted with the white wisps of cloud

a scarlet painting on the sky

the corpse’s skin would wither by

but what about the promise he vowed

the seed, in the womb of his love, he sowed

towards the sky, gaze upon, her eye

a scarlet painting on the sky.

Good News.

On several news stations yesterday I heard about the latest government report revealing that cancer death incidents have fallen in the United States by an average of 1.8 percent in men and 1.4 percent in women.  These percentages don’t sound dramatic, until you consider that the numbers didn’t start even falling until after the early 1990s.

Further, scientists report that the incidence of cancer and subsequent deaths could be further reduced if all those with New Year’s resolutions to lose weight, eat healthier, exercise and quit smoking would stick to their plans.

There is still much to be done to research, prevent and combat Cancer, the second most common cause of death in the US, but the fact that these numbers are decreasing – rather than increasing – is good news.

Added to that is the fact that the 5-year relative survival rate for all cancers diagnosed between 2001 and 2007 is 67%, up from 49% in 1975-1977. The improvement in survival reflects both progress in diagnosing certain cancers at an earlier stage and improvements in treatment, according to a 2012 Cancer Facts & Figures report.  In other words, research.

Bad News.

Now for the bad news. Alzheimer’s disease (AD) is on the rise throughout the world.  And there is still no known cure or way to prevent it, no remissions.  In fact, it is always fatal, causing brain changes that eventually impair an individual’s ability to carry out such basic bodily functions as walking and eventually swallowing.

According to a 2012 Alzheimer’s disease Facts & Figures report, about 5.4 million Americans now have AD. By 2050, more than 15 million Americans could be living with the disease, unless scientists develop new approaches to prevent or cure it.

In fact, every 68 seconds, someone in America develops Alzheimer’s. By mid-century, someone in America will develop the disease every 33 seconds. It is estimated that nearly 500,000 new cases of AD will be diagnosed this year alone.

According to the Alzheimer’s Association, AD is the sixth leading cause of death in the U.S. and the fifth leading cause of death in Americans over age 65 years. And although the proportions of deaths due to other major causes of death have decreased in the last several years, the proportion due to AD has risen significantly.

Researchers have long noted that funding for Alzheimer’s research lags significantly compared to funding for other major ailments. According to University of Mississippi Medical Center, the $450 million allocated by the National Institutes of Health (NIH) for Alzheimer’s is equivalent to less than 15% of the research funding for HIV/AIDS, less than 11% of funding for cardiovascular disease research, and less than 8% of funding for cancer research.

And for every $28,000 spent on Alzheimer’s patient care, only $100 is spent on research.  In fact, the government funds more nutrition research than it does Alzheimer’s research.

Reality Check Needed.

Through exciting research initiatives, scientists continue to make headway in understanding this devastating disease. They believe we are getting close and even at a tipping point.  We just need a commitment from the federal government to fund the level of research necessary to tip the scales on a disease with these startling numbers staring us in the face.

And we’re getting there. In January of 2011, the National Alzheimer’s Project Act (NAPA) was signed into law by President Obama. According to the Alzheimer’s Association, The National Alzheimer’s Project Act (NAPA) will create a coordinated national plan to overcome the Alzheimer’s crisis and will ensure the coordination and evaluation of all national efforts in Alzheimer’s research, clinical care, institutional, and home- and community-based programs and their outcomes.

But that’s just the beginning. Because there are no survivors of this disease, and those affected directly are largely unable to advocate for themselves and for the need for more research (like many AIDS and Cancer survivors are able to do), we must speak out about the need to federally prioritize the impending Alzheimer’s epidemic.

Members of the public — not just medical and association professionals — need to speak up and take action, to contact their representatives in Congress and become advocates through the Alzheimer’s Association.  To defend helpless Alzheimer’s victims, much like we defend the voiceless for other causes in our society.

The time is now to take action.

Visit the Alzheimer’s Association’s  advocacy pages for a simple way speak up for those affected: http://www.kintera.org/siteapps/advocacy/ActionItem.aspx?c=mmKXLbP8E&b=7516993&auid=8520366

Not too long ago  I received one of those unexpected clues that all is right in the universe and that I am exactly where I am meant to be.

Ever have one of those?  They are great moments.  And the more aware you become of them, the more you notice them.  But you have to slow down every once in a while to notice them.

Backstory:  I’m jealous of other people’s friendly mailmen.  Or maybe they are just always friendly in the movies.  My parents have a super friendly mailman who they have had for years and they actually know all about him and his family.

My regular mailman is not a ‘waver’, he doesn’t really say hello and he doesn’t smile.  I can’t figure out if he’s sad or just shy.  Or maybe it’s just me. He does seem somewhat petrified of me for some reason.  Perhaps it’s because he’s terrified by my two maniac dogs who go crazy when the doorbell rings.  Or he just really doesn’t like people anywhere near his personal space bubble.

When he comes to the door with a package and has to ring the bell (I picture him wincing as he reaches for my bell), I usually open the door and come out (so I can close the door behind me and leave the crazy dogs inside). This is when his eyes open wide and he takes several big steps back very quickly, like I am going to attack him or kiss him or something.  It is the oddest thing and he does it every time. I swear I am not abnormally large, fast or loud, or even that scary looking, and I don’t go to the door if I am, in fact, scary looking.  I just can’t figure it out.

So it’s always a treat when we have our substitute mailman who covers our route occasionally   Substitute mailman  is very friendly and actually speaks and smiles.  And he doesn’t  seem afraid of me, which is a plus, and much better for my ego.  Too bad I don’t get to see him that often.

Anyway, bear with me. This day I’m describing was one in which our substitute mailman was on duty.  After I heard the doorbell,  I answered. As soon as I realized it was friendly substitute mailman, I heard him say “Hi, how is your Mom doing?”  I paused for a moment trying to figure out how he would even know that I have a Mom, much less that she is someone who friends routinely ask me about.

I looked at him quizzically and said “fine … why do you ask?”  He explained to me that he read my letter to the editor about Alzheimer’s that was published in the newspaper more than a month ago.  He recognized my name in the paper and knew I was on the route that he delivered for once in a while.  (His memory is already ten times better than mine for remembering this, hands down. But it gets better.)

Then he explained  how he remembered which house I was in and about my Mom, because his dad has Alzheimer’s too. (Note:  I live in the 23rd most populous city.  This blows me away.)

We had a very nice conversation about Alzheimer’s and our parents. As I watched him walk away, I thought about how even though I’ve never said much more than hello to him before, he was sweet enough to a) notice the letter in the paper and actually read it, b) recognize my name, c) remember which house I was in and d)make an effort to come to the door and hand me my mail so that he could ask me about my Mom.  The sap that I am, I teared up just thinking about it and it made my heart swell.

I am thankful to have received what I interpret as a sign that all is right in the universe and that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, despite how often I question the universe and my role within it.  And not that the rising tide of Alzheimer’s and all who it affects is a good thing — far from it — but the occasional reminder that we are all in this together warms my heart.

For these things I am grateful.

When was the last time you received a clue from the universe that all is as it should be?

 I had retired about six months back and had refused to be bound by schedules from then on. I threw away my watch. My physician, my orthopaedic, and my dietician had ganged up against me and had given me schedules to take medicine, to exercise and diet. I refused to be bowed down to their autocratic schedules. I did all that was required of me, well at least eighty percent of them but in an anarchistic way. Being an Indian I feel it is natural for me to be so.

 One early morning a ring of the doorbell shattered our sleep. I covered my head and refused to get up. My wife got up from bed,went and opened the door. Suddenly there was plenty of noise, cooing, kids crying and a whole lot of ruckus. My daughter had come along with her husband and twin daughters whose combined age was three years. So much excitement !

 I refused to be drawn by the grand children. But they were drawn to me and found me good for climbing on and rolling off my tummy. It looked like only my grand children appreciated my tummy. My daughter informed that her husband had been transferred to our town and had located a house through his office contact. My daughter had been promised a job nearby. Beautiful!

 My son-in-law looked at my haggard face,- after discounting for an early morning waking up- enquired the reasons. Was I going to let an opportunity to whine, go waste? No way. I told him about the three health consultants ganging up against me. I also gleefully told him how I was fooling them by following my own schedules. He listened and said, making a smooth schedule was kids’ stuff actually. He agreed to help me. Nice boy. Sons-in-law are so much better than sons.

 He patiently listened to my ‘recommended’ schedule of activities which took a better part of half an hour. He said ‘no problem’ and took out his lap top. He entered all the parameters. He put them in XL sheet. He took a long time. Then said he had done it. He showed the LCD monitor. There was a neat schedule. I tried to punch holes in the schedules but could not. The ladies did not pay any attention.

 He had worked out the time of each act to the minute, like suburban trains schedule. The schedule started ‘after’ my getting up, brushing my teeth, having my coffee, glancing the day’s paper, and evacuation. He had given me the unfettered freedom of hibernating till then, which was my base stipulation. Then his schedule overrode my freedom. I agreed to abide. He was partial to ‘mummy’ and that was his mother-in-law. She was not to ‘lend’ her hand anywhere during the whole day. My wife agreed to the suggestion. I was to do everything myself – his idea being that I become fully independent. May be daughters are better.

 My son-in-law is a genie. He had landed on a Saturday early morning and by Sunday late night all his ‘shifting’ was completed. The goods had come to the new house in a truck. He was a task master. Whenever he was near me, in between ‘his work’ of shifting , he had his watch on ‘stopwatch mode’ and the laptop schedule in front. It looked like I would be able to manage all the activities, like taking all the tablets, all the physicals inside the house, the scheduled diet and a long walk. My ‘dear’ kept away from my room saying that watching me gave her cramps – because of laughter. I knew women do not have any sense of humour. Laughing at sufferings!!

 On Sunday night they went off to their new house. I thought I had been given a reprieve. On Monday morning I was to take things easy, go back to my anarchistic ways, now that my son-in-law and his stop watch were not around. Then I heard an auto-rickshaw stop in front of our house. My daughter and the family were at my doorstep again. I said ‘now what?’ She dumped both the kids with me. She said that she had to rush for her interview, which surely, was only a formality. But still she had to keep time. Daily this time she would drop the kids in, she announced sweetly.

 I asked the son-in-law ‘where am I going to fit these kids in my schedule? You will have to give me a new schedule’. He said ‘sorry papa, you will have to manage. I do not have any spare time now on. If I get any free time I will utilise it to ‘right’ the gender ratio at home’ and got elbowed by my daughter.

 I started feeling perhaps the sons are better after all.

]]> http://laughingatalzheimers.com/2013/01/06/next-christmas-im-sticking-with-billy-squier-and-mariah-carey/ Sun, 06 Jan 2013 19:22:58 +0000 laughinginstead http://laughingatalzheimers.com/2013/01/06/next-christmas-im-sticking-with-billy-squier-and-mariah-carey/

I knew better.  I really did.  What kind of holiday high was I on to think that turning on old holiday music while I decorated my tree in early December during a Little Red Riding hood visit was a good idea?

Being a bit of a sentimental sap already (especially with old tunes), holiday music has a way of making me miss ‘what was’ more than any other kind of music.  Thoughts of my Mom and sister and I decorating the tree while the old Christmas music blared into our fancy room with green carpet and yellow velvet love seats flood my memory.

I would get so upset if they started to hang one single ornament or place one strand of silver icicle tinsel before I was in the room with them.  They knew what a younger kid complex I had, so they were very patient with me.  Then we would get the tree decorated perfectly, just in time for our cat Rascal to knock the whole thing over during the night. Luckily the yellow velvet love seats were always close by to soften its landing.

So while my Mom (Little Red Riding Hood) was here in early December for her Wednesday visit, I thought some holiday music might put a little sparkle back in her eyes while I put the garland on my Christmas tree so the boys could decorate it with ornaments later that afternoon.  Sometimes little things like photos or music can bring her back for a moment. Even though reaching for those random lucid moments can wear me out and make me sad, I still can’t stop trying.

I soon realized that this would be a first of many days when I wouldn’t really be sure if my Mom still knew who I was.  Her Alzheimer’s is at a stage where she barely speaks a word and she can’t be left alone.  She seems restless and somewhat frustrated, but also lethargic and lacking in energy.  But up until then, I  felt pretty sure that I at least seemed familiar to her.

As I trimmed the tree, I kept asking her if the new garland looked okay on the tree and if she liked it.  Not even a smile – which is usually the emotional saving grace of these encounters.  She just looked at me like I was a complete stranger yammering at her and she continued to pick up tree needles from my floor. (She has always liked things neat and orderly.)

As I adjusted my tree ribbon and listened to Bing Crosby drone on about his White Christmas dreams and then someone sing about Santa coming to town and checking that list twice,  a few tears streamed down my face as I hid my face toward the back of the tree. I hoped to myself that this wouldn’t drag out forever, for everyone’s sake.  And I felt guilty for thinking that.  Because nobody gets better with this disease.  They just run out of life.

I tried not to let her see my tears, even though I really don’t think she could understand them.   I wanted to call my sister to complain, whine or speculate about what’s next on this dim horizon for our mother.  But I haven’t been able to do that for 13 years. She left me here alone to figure all of this out, even though I know she didn’t mean to.  My self-pity party was getting into high gear.

So after a few songs, a few more tears and blank looks from Mom who was still collecting dust bunnies and needles from my floor, I grabbed the remote, clicked off that damn music and started to walk away from the tree.  My throat was tight from my pent up tears and I took a deep breath.

Then I noticed Mom had something in her hand.  It was a grocery list that my stepdad had probably thrown away (Little Red Riding Hood likes to peek in the trash these days). She must have had the list in her pocket. It was in three pieces and she kept looking at the pieces and refolding them. She’s been a list-maker since I can remember and I grinned because some old habits really do die hard. My tears subsided.

Maybe running her fingers over the little pieces of that list in her hand brought her some kind of comfort that she needed?  If that’s the case, I’m certainly grateful.

And next year, I’m going to be sure to stick with modern Christmas tunes like Billy Squier and Mariah Carey and leave old Bing Crosby for another day. Those songs — and that video of Mariah with Jimmy Fallon and the kids singing along — have the power to offset any holiday pity party headed my way.

I believe in gratitude and the power it has to change my perspective, even when it seems hard to find.  I’m convinced that some gratitude will come to me by the time I finish writing this.  And I’m hoping these thoughts will help my readers cherish every moment they have with their loved ones.  And take nothing for granted.

My Mom having Alzheimer’s is a big fat drag because:

1. I wish I would have spent more quality time with her before she got sick.

2. I wish I had asked her if her favorite color was still yellow when she could still tell me.

3. I wish I would have paid better attention to the signs in the beginning.

4. I desperately wish for rare moments of clarity to happen when I am near.

5. I worry about her dignity.

6. Most healthcare workers have no clue how to treat a person with Alzheimer’s.  And it makes me want to help change happen.

7. She is afraid to take a bath.

8. I wish I could remember the name of that flowery lotion my grandmother used to give her every Christmas.  And I wish I had someone to ask that would know.

9. I worry about my Stepdad being sad and tired.

10. I worry about my Stepdad getting hurt and me not knowing.

11. I wonder how much of what I say she understands.

12. I wonder if I offend her by babying her.

13. I  wish I had taken better notes about my family history.

14. I wish I really knew when all this started – so hard to tell.

15. I worry about when the next shoe is going to drop.

16. I think about how she would not want to be this way.

17. I worry that she is frightened and she can’t express it.

18.  I’m scared to death it’s going to happen to me.

On the other hand, I am still able to be grateful because:  (whew, glad some gratitude came through)

1. I love it when I have what seems like a tiny a breakthrough with her.

2. I am happy when she smiles her old smile.

3.I love to be silly and make her laugh (when I use Three Stooges type humor it cracks her up).

4. I can tell she enjoys changing the bed sheets with me.  Especially if I’m silly while we’re doing it.

5. She’s still my Mom in there.

6.  I love that she said  really sweet things to me that day a year ago when I did her hair for her, when she was better able to comprehend and talk.

7. My stepdad is solid as a rock, and I love him for it.

8. I’m lucky that she lives close now so I don’t worry even more.

9. I can have these tiny moments of joy with her to always remember.

Thanks for reading.

Reblogged from Alzheimer's Reading Room:

Dementia is the gradual deterioration of mental functioning that effects memory, mood, thinking, concentration, and judgment. These changes often affect a person’s ability to perform normal daily activities.

Dementia is a an illness that usually occurs slowly over time, and usually includes a progressive state of deterioration. The earliest signs of dementia are usually memory problems, confusion, and changes in the way a person behaves and communicates.

Read more… 131 more words

Little Red Riding Hood keeps me guessing on her visits each Wednesday to my house. If I turn around for more than a minute, she will nicely rearrange things for me.  Almost always after she leaves on her Wednesday visits, I either find that something is missing or that she has moved something to a strange place.  Almost like my Mom is messing with me, but she has no idea, given her Alzheimer’s.  And she makes me smile.

I call her Little Red Riding Hood because she always wears a little red Woolrich coat with a plaid lining – she has for years.  And she loves to wear it with the hood up. These days I think its familiarity somehow brings her comfort.  The funny thing is that I received this coat for a Christmas gift as a young teenager almost 30 years ago.  Once I grew out of it, my petite-framed mother adopted it and has worn it since.

Each Wednesday morning, I walk “Little Red Riding Hood” slowly up my sidewalk for our visit.  She’s becoming less willing to carefully step out of the van these days as I continue to become less familiar to her, but we make it work.  Once inside, she doesn’t like to take her red coat off.  This day was no different.

As always, some dog toys were strewn about our living room floor.  After all, we are a dog lover family, and they know who’s in charge here.  They are.  Yet things on the floor seem to bother my mother, who kept our house the cleanest and most orderly on the block when I was a kid. And since old habits die hard, she spends a lot of her time at my house picking up dog toys, dried leaves brought in from the pups, and occasional dust bunnies.  (Less vacuuming for me I guess.)

And since we’re quite sure our mini poodle mix pup has opposable thumbs that she uses when we’re not looking to scavenge for food and trouble at all times, we call her Monkey Dog.  As such, monkey–themed dog toys are quite fitting and aplenty in our house.

After Mom left that day, I found the sock monkey dog toy in my spoon rest by the stove. Once I figured out that she must have done it, I got such a kick out of it that I left it there for a few days despite how germy it probably was. (I have germ issues.)

The morning after her next visit, I found another monkey dog toy perfectly positioned in our kitchen computer chair, as if ready to type.  This too made me smile.  I left him there until the kids later moved him.

I ever so am grateful for the smiles Little Red Riding Hood brings us with our Monkey Palooza.

Even though I had spent well over 8 hours traveling home (United Airlines = United Assholes. I refuse to start ranting about them again, they just don’t deserve all my time and frustration), I went straight to my grandmother’s to visit her before crashing at my parents’ house.

My grandmother has advanced dementia. My mother takes care of her for the better part of the day, seven days a week. As you can imagine, this causes great stress on my mother– and my father, too, who stands by my mother as she comes home exhausted, and cries, and freaks out over the smallest things in the world, and doesn’t go to bed until midnight or just past because she still needs to do all the laundry and the cooking and preparing dad’s lunch (35 years and counting) and paying the bills (good ol’ Dad can’t figure out how to write a check– he just knows how to sign them) and making the doctor’s appointments and everything else she can squeeze in before collapsing. You can imagine my mother’s relief when I arrived– she was able to leave my grandmother’s side for half an hour while I took her place.

That day was a good day– my grandmother remembered me. It was so tragic, though, when her eyes welled up with tears because she wanted to tell me something but couldn’t remember the words. I held her hand and she played with my ring I had on. It wasn’t a special ring– it’s a uniquely-shaped silver ring with a pretty beryl, but nothing too fancy. She liked the way it shone and sparkled in the light. I asked her if she liked it. She said she did. She kept playing, and I could tell she was eager to tell me something. Then she blurted out:

Ha nem szép, dobd ki.

That’s close enough to her exact wording. She told me that if something is not good, dump it, leave it.

Did she know? Was she trying to tell me that she’s more cognizant than we realize? Was she able to read my mind or detect my weariness on life?

I replied:
Ez az igazsag.

That’s the truth.

As I mentioned before, I was brutally dumped by my boyfriend. We did start talking again, but I was already worn out. It took too much effort to be nice. But, I thought that if I saw him in person, maybe we can discuss our issues, get things straight (not straightened out, which would imply getting back together, but simply straight– no hard feelings, closure, etc). He was visiting his parents down South for the holiday until Snowstorm Euclid (since when did they start naming winter storms??) promised to shut down most airports, so he hurried back to town to get to see me, since I’d only be around for a few days. Well, he didn’t quite tell me that last, tiny part. Tuesday night, around 1:00 AM, not having heard back from him since his first flight, I texted:

Me: Are you home yet?? Did you arrive?
Him: Yeah.

Weird, I know. I later found out that he stopped at a gas station or convenient store to buy a 12-pack to “help him sleep.” I must have caught him self-medicating. Like I needed this crap…

Early the next day, I got this text:

Him: I’m going to get some logs for the fireplace. Want me to pick you up and we’ll spend the day and night snowed in?
Me: I don’t like the idea of being stranded for over a day. How about if you come over and we’ll hang out for a bit? We can go to the mall or a museum, and you’ll drive me back before the roads get too bad to drive.
Him: I’m staying in.

Did I seriously do or say something wrong? I didn’t want to stay over there. I didn’t want to deal with the headache and drama that I knew would ensue and find myself stuck at his house. I liked staying in my old room at my parents’ house. I was warm and comfortable and fed. It was such a relief to be back home (as I’ve made known already, I really don’t like Maine) and it was exactly what I needed. Why couldn’t he get that?

The next day, the snow stopped, the roads cleared, and I was finally able to visit my second home- – Saks Fifth Avenue! I shopped and walked around the mall, so happy to be there!! I got a call from a good friend who wanted to meet up later at a local venue to check out a show. I said I’d meet up with him. I texted my quasi-ex-something or other:

Me: I’m meeting up with G—— later at the G— S—. Any interest in seeing those bands? I don’t know who they are, but I just want to meet up with G——.
Him: Yeah, that’ll be cool. You’re welcome to come over. But I’m not driving you home.
Me: Want to meet at the wine bar beforehand?
Him: (silence for two hours)

Two hours later:

Me: Hello????
Him: Sorry, just got back from the wine bar. You know no one gets reception down there.

Dickhead.

My dad dropped me off down the hill from Quasi. I walk up to his house and he’s being hyper and weird. GREAT!!! He’s drunk!!! And he’s just getting started!!! What a great night this will be!!

He gives me my Christmas presents– white gold and diamond earrings and matching necklace. They were too much, but they were lovely. I left them on the dining room table before we headed down to the show, which was absolutely terrible, by the way. My ears were ringing for hours afterwards. The lead singer practically hung himself with the microphone cord. The female singer from another band screamed into her mic just to be barely heard over the guitars. It was all a load of garbage.

We got a ride back up the hill from my friend who was anxious to get home. I sat down on the couch and told Quasi I wanted to have a conversation with him. Then shit hit the fan:

Him: Call your dad and tell him you’re staying over.
Me: No, I’m not calling him yet.
Him: It’s late, and he’s waiting for your call.
Me: It’s still early– he’s not expecting a call for over an hour yet. I just want to talk to you.
Him: I want you to call your dad right now and I want to hear you tell him that you’re staying over.

I started losing it. He continued:

Him: I’ve been dodging phone calls from my parents all day. You know how embarrassed I am to tell my parents that I haven’t seen you, even though I came home early for you? You know how embarrassed I am to tell my mom ‘no, she hasn’t seen her presents yet?’

I finally snapped:

I don’t believe you! I don’t believe your parents have called even once!! And I embarrass you?? Why would you want to be with me, then??? I’m tired of this back-and-forth! You either want to be with me or you don’t, but you know what? I don’t care anymore! I’m DONE. I’m TIRED. I DON’T NEED THIS!! I don’t need to be MANIPULATED!!!

I yelled all this while pulling on my boots and coat.

Him: Can I return the gifts, then?
Me: What???? You want the gifts?? That’s just poor form.
Him: Well, they’re on the table, right?
Me: No, I’ve already put them in my purse. Here, you want them?
Him: No, keep them then.
Me: No! Here you go (putting the boxes on the side table). Take them back. I don’t want to owe you or have you hanging this over my head. I’m DONE. You had to ruin tonight, too! I’m TIRED. I’m so OVER THIS!!

I ran out of the house, slamming the door behind me. I ran down the hill, calling my dad on the way down, “Hi! I’m ready! Meet me where you dropped me off.”

ARGH!!! He’ll never change. And he’ll never get it, as evidenced by the text I received a few days later:

Him: I just wanted to spend time with you. I’m sorry if you felt guilty about not spending more time with your parents.

What?

Grandmother is still brilliant: If it’s not good, dump it. And that’s what I did.

Watch out, Evil Boss, you’re next.

I learned this in 2012.

So, I’m beginning to explore voice over work.

Near Phoenix

Dan Whitney is the original Larry the Cable Guy, aka: Tow Mater in Disney’s Cars.

I’m not Dan.  I simply sound like him, according to some people.

Brimming with misery and wondered what went wrong

He smiled wryly and said son,

Life is what happened

When he was busy cheating death.