MILD TRIGGER WARNING: UNEXPECTED THREATS OF SUICIDE (NOT ME, I’M FINE)
I feel tired today and braindead. I’ve spent the past two days helping my mom get ready to go back to her house in New England, where her boyfriend is waiting to care for her. She called earlier today and asked one of us (me or my dad) to call her back. Taking one for the team, I called her.
“Don’t get mad,” she said. “Promise you won’t get mad at me.”
Do those words ever lead to anything good?
“I finally spoke on the phone to your brother last night,” she continued. “He said that you told him I paid your sister to invite you two to her wedding!”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Where would you get an idea like that?!”
“From Codger.” (That’s what I call my dad.)
“No!” she wailed. “Oh, alas, alas, no, it’s not true. All I did was tell your sister she really should do the right thing. This is the biggest family gathering ever, and I want all my children to be there.”
“Sorry,” I said. “You’re outta luck.”
“Why? Why? Why? I need to rewrite my will. I’ve saved money my whole life, and after I’m gone, you three ingrates won’t deserve it.”
“Uhuh,” I murmured. “That’s nice. So, uh, what time do you want me to come over and help you tomorrow?”
“Anytime’s good. Put your father on the phone.”
I fetched him. He was in his office area, listening to his radio program. He took the phone and put it on speakerphone due to his hearing loss.
My mom kept wailing and sobbing and playing the victim, and my dad kept urging her to get over it and move on with her life. She threatened to slit her wrists. That’s extreme, even for her. She explained that if she were to attempt suicide, we’d all come visit her at the hospital. Not to point out the obvious, but we wouldn’t all visit her at the same time. Hopefully, she’ll think that through to its natural conclusion.
My dad kept trying to point out to her that it’s her own machinations that cause her all this grief. This probably goes without saying, but she was having none of it.
I can’t help but wonder if my brother told him what he told me: that he’ll go to the wedding and act interested if she pays him $5,000. I’m laughing at the thought.
It’s fish fry night! Being a dedicated off-diet day, I woke up and went to the local pastry shop. While I was there, I ran into Mike, the guy who runs the now-closing hardware shop. He was glad to see me. “I made the mean guy go away!” he told me. He was referring, of course, to the liquidator.
But I got sort of shy and found it hard to talk to him.
“I knew you weren’t the sort of person to take the candy,” he continued. “But he’s gone for good.”
The employee asked me what I wanted to order, so I couldn’t reply at all to Mike.
As I was leaving with my order, he said, “How’s that dog of yours doing?”
“My doggie’s great. I’m glad he’s gone,” I said with enthusiasm. “I mean, the mean guy, not my dog.” I gave him a very sincere smile and then had to leave because the next person coming in was holding the door for me.
Speaking of Big Woof the pup, disaster. I was taking her out front last night to walk her around the block. With one hand on her leash, I reached behind me to pull our front door shut. And… she was gone. Oh no. She was bolting toward a dogwalker who had two small white dogs on leashes. “LuLu,” I cried. “LuLu!”
LuLu, eager to play and make friends, lunged all over the two white dogs.
“Get off,” the man yelled. He kicked at LuLu. “Get away.”
Confused and heartbroken, LuLu ran back toward me. I corralled her and took her right back inside, deciding to write that dogwalk off as an abject failure.
LuLu doesn’t have a violent bone in her body, but she sees other dogs on leashes and wants to play with them. She’s rambunctious, playful, affectionate, and loving. Unfortunately, people see a 90-pound dog barreling toward them in the night, and they freak out. AARGH. I was so ashamed of her behavior. I couldn’t even apologize to that dogwalker. Instead, I fled in shame.
And, yesterday before I went over to help Mother, my dad’s friend, Mr. Sullivan, came over. I love Mr. Sullivan. He’s very likeable. I think everyone likes him. He’s a bit younger than my dad. This will sound ridiculously country, but my dad and Mr. Sullivan like to go tomcatting around, in a very lowkey sort of way. They flirt with waitresses and give them small gifts like candy. Mr. Sullivan also hangs out with me sometimes for the same reason, I dare think. His wife isn’t threatened by any of this, and I don’t blame her, ’cause Mr. Sullivan would never cheat on his wife. He’s far too decent. In all, he’s a great and caring person who has lots of friends and is very loyal. I’m always happy to see him.
So when he came yesterday, I showed him all the popcorn toppings I’ve ordered from the Kernel Seasons company. And I showed him my new strawberry chocolate-chip waffle mix from Kodiak. And I told him about my new cozy mystery series at Norton Commons, and I added, “Because why not add a whole bunch of dead bodies to that beautiful place?” He thought it sounded great.
So collectively, I’m tired today. Just tired. But I ought to take the check I earned from my mom to the bank. And yeah, it’s fish fry day!
So, when I got home from the pastry shop and ate my mini-challah, it was disappointingly not all that good. Apparently, when you quit eating unhealthy stuff, it really does lose its appeal. Undeterred, I then ate my cinnamon-pretzel twist. It was also a let-down. Still undeterred, I ate my apricot cookie. Now that was good. At any rate, I’m glad I can go back on my diet tomorrow. Since I also bought a thing of Vitamin Water, it all cost over eight dollars! I should be able to save money on this diet, which is good; because I used to go to the pastry shop every day, and then I could easily spend ten bucks on junk food at the drugstore late at night.
I’m so tired!! Ugh. Oh, I’ve also been manic, so starting yesterday, I’m going down on my Prozac. I go up on it for seasonal reasons, and I think the time for those reasons to pose problems has passed. Our time will change this weekend, giving us another hour of daylight. While manic, I developed a whole new voice, accent, and set of mannerisms. It felt childish and playful. It was weird. Sonya’s told me I do the same thing while paranoid. Go figure. How many Megs are there?
The tricky thing is that I don’t go up on Prozac each year due to winter depression. Rather, I get winter irrationality. (Hide your candy!) So it’s possible that my mania will go away, but that I’ll become prone to increased irrationality before winter ends for good. We can hope for the best.