Oh mylanta!

What have I gotten myself into?

My mom, having broken up with her boyfriend, is hellbent on going to Maine to pack up the stuff in her cottage. She’s going to sell the house there and relocate permanently here to  Louisville. (She’s had dual residence for the past several years, spending time here and there. Her boyfriend was her tie to Maine.)

So I called my mom on the phone today, and she asked what I knew. Like, hey, what do you know?

“I bought an aromatherapy kit,” I said.

“Uh-huh.” She sounded distracted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Everything!!” She jumped into a soliloquy about how she can’t bring all the details together: renting a moving van, buying plane tickets, logging into the plane website so she can use her frequent flier miles, renting a car at the airport, etc.

Now, the weird thing is that my mom thrives on this level of stress. Whenever you have a situation with intimidating details, give it to her! Seriously. So she’s happy right now, but she just doesn’t know she’s happy. It’s like… how to put it… subconscious happiness.

“I’d ask you to go to Maine with me and help, but I know you have your trip coming up!” she lamented.

“I don’t leave for a month,” I pointed out. “I could help for a week or two. I need to earn some money for the trip anyway.” I didn’t add that I’m flat broke.

“Oh, well, I don’t know how much I could pay you, as it would cost a lot to fly you up to Maine and back. But I was going to give you a lot of money for your trip anyway.”

“Perfect!” I exclaimed. “Let me earn it.” Meg, have you lost your mind?!

[Facepalm.] I need to go back in time and restart that conversation.

Now, normally, earning the money she’s going to give me would be the virtuous thing to do, right? But my mother can be an impossible–and I do mean impossible–person to get along with. She also tends to embarrass me in public by seeking attention and acting helpless, whereas I’m your garden-variety introverted shyster. I’m all like, “Mother, please, quit making a scene. Here, let me buy you some candy. Chocolate, Mother, chocolate.”

(I do want to help, though, because she needs help. And it might not all be as bad as Medieval torture.)

Meg, you may as well tie your body to a spit and light the fire. 

Oh, come on, inner voice. That’s uncalled for. Mother’s not going to cook us for dinner. 

So, yeah. I’ll keep you all posted. I did manage to get an email sent to her from the airline with a way for her to change her login password. Hopefully that helped. Back when she had her stroke in late January 2018, she lost access to her Amazon and social media accounts (among other things) and was never able to get back in.

One problem would be that I’d have no internet access. But it’s a week! How awful can that be?

No witnesses either, Meg. Her word against yours. 

Okay. Maybe this is a bad idea. It seems like a bad idea.

My mom just called, asking if I can use internet cafes in Maine. I told her I’d just need a device, and the internet cafe would give me their internet password. (That’s true, right? I’ve used internet at the public library before, but not at a cafe.)

I’m telling you all, my life is a wild and unpredictable ride, but I like it that way. I mentioned I’m broke, right? I knew that would turn around. One day I’m broke, the next day I’ve got some coin. Go figure. It reminds me of a board game involving money because I got a lot of money earlier this year and then I got hit with medical bills and was tapped out, and then I got more money, and so on and so forth. You just never know. Life is a wild ride.

I’m so screwed. Oh my gosh.

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