March 28 through 30

[chochiyo_sama]

Monday, March 28

My major accomplishments today were to fill my pill caddy, wash my white clothes, and catch up with all the many DW entries I had fallen behind in again.  Today, I got a response from Paul about the boxes.  He is going to swing by on Sunday after work (he’s a cop) and pick them up.  I can hardly wait to have the damned things out of my house.  I need to make some time to gather them all up and get them in one place.  If I can muster the strength and stamina, I would like to pile them up in the garage so all he has to do is throw them in his truck. 

I made a can of chicken noodle soup and an English muffin with raspberry jam for supper. It was about all had the energy to make for myself.

I had a few text responses from the people I reached out to about praying for Joni.  I am so concerned that the idiots in the medical field are going to just let her die because they are too stupid to search out the actual reason for her illness.  Assholes.

 

Tuesday, March 29

I woke up feeling grungy and grumpy.  I felt much better after a long, hot shower.  Since the most recent “blind-side” attack by my mother, I have gone from raging and wrathful to listless and depressed.  Now I don’t feel like doing anything but sleep.  Sleep seems to take me to a better place.  Of course I am having all kinds of bizarre dreams. 

The other night, I dreamed I was at my maternal grandmother’s house.  My uncle (mom’s older brother) and his wife were there as well.  We were all sitting in the living room when my grandmother’s pets began wrestling on the carpet.  One was a fuzzy little dog with a long plume of a tail, and the other was a small bright green alligator with lots of very sharp teeth.  I was concerned that the alligator would really hurt the small dog, but my grandmother said they were fine—that they acted like this all the time.  I reached down to rub the dog’s tummy, and the alligator bit me.  It was like being bitten by a dog or cat, not like an alligator. Ha. 

Two thoughts on this dream:  (1)  I knew in the dream that my grandma, aunt and uncle were all dead, but it didn’t seem weird that we were all there together, presumably alive.  (2)  In REAL life my grandmother hated pets in the house.  After my grandfather’s little Boston terrier died, she never had another pet of her own.  The terrier died of grief very shortly after my grandfather died.  That dog worshipped my grandfather. 

I sometimes wonder if my grandmother actually had my uncle shoot little Trixie because she ceaselessly whined and roamed around looking for his beloved master.  Or if my uncle just did it while my grandmother was at work and buried her in the woods.  It is something he would have no problem doing.  He was always killing something.  Monster.

Also, Trixie’s body was never found.  Grandma claimed she just wandered out into the woods that surrounded “the island” and never was seen again. (“The island” is what they called the little settlement where they lived. Apparently, it was an actual island once upon a time.  It was tiled and drained and was no longer a real island, but the name stuck.  Just as another side note, that area was settled mainly by immigrants from Holland who were used to reclaiming land from water.)  In a third random thought, there was lots of quicksand around the island.  We were constantly warned to stay away from certain areas in the woods are near the island as there was quicksand there.  There were also several flowing wells in the ditches near the fields. 

When I was a child, all kinds of vegetables were grown on the island.  The soil was rich peat dirt.  The farmers grew cabbages, potatoes, carrots, rutabagas, beets, sugar beets, onions, and all kinds of things.  Now, it is primarily corn, potatoes, and onions that are grown there. All summer there were scores of migrant workers on the island to do the weeding and harvesting—all done by hand instead of machines.  My grandfather had a small farm, and all the farm work there was done by his family.  They only hired migrant workers when it came time to harvest the cabbages.

I wish they still grew all those vegetables there.  It was something to see a huge field of cabbages stretching out as far as the eye could see. 

Ah, memories.

Later in the day, I put a couple of chicken patties in the oven.  While they baked, I did a bunch of dishes, “butchered” a cantaloupe, and tidied up the kitchen.  The cantaloupe was starting to develop “soft spots” which would have turned to rot within a short time, but it wasn’t fully ripe yet either.  I prefer my cantaloupe to be extremely ripe.  This one was still a bit crunchy.  I ate a lot of it for supper anyhow, but I was disappointed in it.

I had some of the potato salad I bought last week for supper—it was less than adequate.  It had very little flavor and too much mayonnaise.  I regret that I bought two cartons of it.  I will probably end up throwing all of it away.  I should know better.  Homemade potato salad is the best.  I like onion and celery in my potato salad.  This stuff had celery, but it was mushy and tasteless.  Gross.

A possibility of thunderstorms in the middle of the night—around 3 to 5 am—was predicted, but they came earlier than that.  I started noticing flashes of light outside around 9:30 pm, but I thought it was just car headlights.  Then I heard a distant rumbling.  At first I thought it was a train as the tracks are only a couple of blocks from my house.  But soon, there was lots of obvious thunder and lightning.  One impressively huge bolt of lightning was clearly visible from my picture window.  It looked like it hit about a block from my house, near the Methodist church.  The thunder was a booming CRACK! Immediately afterwards.  Poor Peaches was terrified, but that was the only loud and really intense episode.  The rest were mundane in comparison.  I enjoy thunderstorms, so I was happy.

That was the extent of my day, more or less.

 

Wednesday, March 30

Another round of thunder, lightning, and hail occurred in the middle of the night—probably around 4:30 am.  I didn’t realize it was hail until later in the day when I saw the picture someone posted on FaceBook.  It was small hail—about the size of a pea or maybe a marble, but it really hammered against the side of the house and the neighbor’s big RV behind my house.  That thing really makes a lot of noise when hail is slamming against it.

Amy called to see if I still wanted the “boys” as their vet appointment for neutering is set for tomorrow.  I told her of course I still want them.  We chatted a bit about their personalities and habits.  She wanted to know if it would be okay for her to keep them an extra day or two as Gracie (her daughter) wanted to have a last good-bye with them.  I said that was fine.  It will actually work out better for me if they come on Friday or Saturday instead of tomorrow.  That will give them a chance to recover from their surgery as well. 

I talked to Tammy on the phone today.  She had talked to Jack about Mom’s attack on Sunday and told me that they were both livid about it and sick of Mom’s pot-stirring.  Apparently, she had bragged to Jack about how she had “finally done it!  [She] told [me] that Kim and the boys no longer wanted ANYTHING from me!”  She said it with the pride of someone who had enjoyed putting someone firmly in their place.  She also bragged that, while Kim had said that SHE would tell me, Mom said, “No. I will take care of it.”  She wanted to be the one to bask in my response, enjoying sticking that knife in and twisting it.  I really do not know what kind of person takes such pleasure in causing such pain and strife amongst her own children.  It’s just sick.

Anyhow, Jack scolded her and asked her why she would do that to me.  “If you want peace in the family, you have to STOP GETTING IN THE MIDDLE OF IT and LET IT DROP,” he said. 

Then she whined, “I HATE being in the middle of this.”  Also a lie.  She LOVES to stir the pot and create drama.  It must make her feel important somehow.  Maybe it makes her feel like the superhero to save the poor damsel (Kim and her spawn) from the wicked, cruel monster (me).  To me, it feels like she has seen me as the evil enemy since I was born.  But it was probably since Kim was born, since my paternal grandparents and great-grandfather thought I was the best thing on the planet but they didn’t have much time for Kim.  Can I help it that I was an adorable, intelligent, and funny two year old?  Did she really think that, as a toddler, I was capable of turning the world against my infant sibling?  I really do not understand it.

Well….this is the way it has been all my life.  I guess I just need to accept that this is how it will be until one or both of us is dead.

Also, Mom called later in the day and acted like everything was normal and fine.  Never said a word about anything that had happened or that Jack and Tammy had both told her to back off and that *I* wasn’t doing anything to prolong this crap.  It’s all Kim and her paranoid/delusional spawn who are continuing to act as though I am on a mission to destroy them and turn the world against them.  ALL of my siblings have told Mom that Kim is mentally ill and needs professional help and possibly medication and that her spawn are so damaged by her twisted “mothering” that they are incapable of functioning in the adult world (as well as unwilling  to). 

I didn’t give her any ammunition or information.  She said, “I haven’t talked to you since Sunday—I had to call and find out if you were still alive.”  I said, “I’ve been busy.  I have a lot of stuff going on.” 

I listened to her prattle on and on about her Bible study and church and what LaVonna had to say and so on.  I didn’t make any effort to prolong the conversation.  Finally, she told me that Kim was trying to call her, and I said, “I’ll let you go then so you two can talk.”  I almost said “so you co-conspirators can get back to your plotting.”  But, I am determined to give her NOTHING to use against me.

My life sucks.

Comments

[the_godiva]

Tell her doctors if she dies you are going to have an independent autopsy done and if it shows her death could have been prevented with proper diagnosis and adequate treatment, you are going to sue their asses every way from Tuesday. The one thing all these big corporate entities understand is litigation. Lawyers make them pee their pants. It's why I hired THREE in February. All money well spent.

Twice I have had dreams I was driving and then panicked because I didn't have my license. I'm getting paranoid every time I see a patrol call go down my alley on the security cams; I'm sure they're checking to see if my car is still parked.

Weeding by hand is the only way. And planting a variety of things is better for the soil and for the crops. Monocrops not only damage the environment but they leave the plants vulnerable to disease and infestation which leads to chemicals. I watched a fabulous program about taking a sterile plot of land north of L.A. and bringing it back to life. Took 7 years for the environment to finally balance but when everything else was dying from the drought, this farm thrived.

Yes, your mother is very damaged. I'm glad Jack stood up for you. But you know she will find a way to make herself the victim and blame you. You turned Jack against her. Blah blah blah. My sister has more serious problems than are apparent I think. She admitted she sees a therapist, I think grief counseling, first for her husband and now for her son. But she also is pissed her birthday is last and "no one remembers, no one calls me ON my birthday." Well, shit, grow the fuck up. There are times I am never called, not on the day, not at all. And I rarely get to celebrate on the day either unless it is convenient. We have had random mass family birthday celebrations for years because it gets tiresome to have one every week. So it's usually down to two since my brother is in Florida and my parents bookend mine. So there is a celebration early October for my Mom, me and my Dad combined, and then one for her. And they are usually on the weekend no matter what day the actual birthday is because she works, as she never ceases to remind us. But that will never heal her constant, life long butt-hurt of being the youngest. I can't help my birthday is before hers is and I can't help that I was born first either. Well, she won't be getting any phone calls from now on once my parents are dead. I'm never calling her and my brother doesn't remember to call my parents on their birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's Day, Easter or Mother's Day or Father's Day. He may hit one or two of them and a few random in between but he doesn't call every holiday. They notice. I didn't get a call or a present this year but I'm sure that's my sister's doing. If he chooses to believe her then fuck him too. Oh, I did get a card. Two weeks late.

You can do several things. You can shun your Mother and let her get her rides from someone else. Now that Jack is retired he can become her chauffeur at her every beck and call. Or when she pulls this shit you can fire right back at her and give her better than she is giving. It won't stop her or shut her up. Just give her ammunition to bad mouth you behind your back but she does that anyway and nothing will stop that. But it might stop her from the full frontal attacks if she knows she is going to get slapped in return. That last thing is to just shut up and take it. I don't recommend that one because it will eat you up inside. You know she's damaged so whatever response you decide on you will have to learn to tell yourself she is damaged and let it go. That is hard to do and takes a lot of practice. I will say I am happier now that I have stopped trying to get my sister to "like" me and stop attacking and blaming me. Now that I have decided to cut all ties and ignore her I feel quite free. She can be reminded what a shit she is every time she wears the blue topaz I bought her, uses the Christmas dishes, glasses and silver plate, Looks at the quilt on the wall or the glass pieces in the family room. That house is full of stuff I have given her or made or in some way been part of. In my house? Well, I have the William Wegman dog and puppy calendars, Andrew Cotter's Book Olive, Mabel and Me and a rack for my Instapot. Not a lot else. Oh, the glass for the fountain in the back yard and two stepping stones. But quite frankly I don't think of her when I look at them so I doubt she does when she looks at all of the stuff in her house that I have given her.

I need to find the wedding quilt I made for her that she trashed in the washer or drying. Tore it up pretty badly, plus there are some stains. She gave it to me to fix. Well, that's not going to happen any more. It will go right back in the bag she gave it to me in and I will be selling the fabric I bought to repair it. Not spending hundreds of hours unpicking stitches and working in panels to mend it and then requilting it. Not for some ungrateful bitch that badmouths me to my parents because she resents that she finally has to show up instead continuing to delegate their care to me.

I haven't gone so far as to accuse her of being a bad mother but if she pushes me too far, it is likely to come out. And I'm not above telling her spawn he killed his brother by keeping silent about the drugs and alcohol. Because it's true. At least if I do that they'll both never speak to me again. And I am just fine with that.