Oh, I almost forgot, we're working on the eye thing. She talked to her credit card whatzit to see if she could get the limit raised (not all that helpful, turns out 77-year old widows aren't the best credit risks, whodathunkit?), I'm trying to figure out how much poorer I can live (wish it was Spring, but it is what it is and shall be, and all that noise) in order to contribute a little more to her upkeep, she's trying to decide if she can add another day doing housecleaning (yeah, I feel
real good about that
) without actually killing herself, and my brother, well, he's got bills of his own and all so maybe not so much. But he did at least agree to drive her to and from her surgery if she cannot find someone else to do it, and I'm hoping that will end up extending to doing grocery runs for her, because I
hate walking all over town carrying groceries in the Winter - the city plows the streets onto the sidewalks around here, and that's not real pleasant when you're empty handed and walking good to begin with. Last year I started walking in the road, but part of that is a busy ("in town") 40mph five-lane highway that gets constricted to two or three lanes when it snows/ices/craps and I had a few too many close calls.
Mom said something about trying to wait until next year and getting the cataract removed from her good eye then, but I know that's less out of not feeling like she needs the surgery than...
Mom being Mom. I called the woman to check on her and she could hardly breathe, let alone talk. "I'm... okay... I just... I... been having... trouble... breathing... for about... a coup... coup... couple hours... now... Gonna... have... use... inhaler... in a... little while," and the whole time she's pant-pant-pant in between words. "Mom, use your inhaler NOW." "o... kay." "You should have used it two hours ago." "Don't... want to... waste it." I'm like, for fu-- err, FFS! And then she'll say, "Doesn't... doesn't... help... much 'nyway." And I'll say, "I'm no doctor, so I don't know - but do you think maybe it'd work better if you used it when you first notice an attack coming on?" And it's that way every time. IDFK. I don't know how she lives like that because it sometimes feels like it's killing
me.
Other times, she's breathing decently enough. Then it's just the aforementioned eye problems. The severe pain issues that she's been dealing with (variously) as far back as 1982 or longer. The long-term lack of appetite due to having almost no taste & smell, and that little remaining amount all f*cked up so that things that she can sense don't seem like anything resembling food/drink tastes and smells. The worry that she will lose the few cleaning jobs she still manages to do because she just can't do 12 hours' worth of work in 8 hours like she used to (Mom learned how to clean in the '40s and '50s - and that's how she cleans now, none of that junk stuff that they show on commercials, she's a hands & knees scrub kind of cleaner) and is scared to death that people will want someone 40 or 50 years younger. Or the worry that she just won't be able to go do it at all next week, or the week after - or tomorrow. And the teaspoon-sized bladder capacity thanks to a botched surgery years ago that causes her to not drink
anything or even eat anything with a higher moisture content than a cracker before she goes to work (or anywhere, if she if off but has errands), while she's at work, on her way home from work... Until she gets home, when she'll drink some fluid and maybe, if she's not too tired, and feels like eating, she'll do so. Or just go to bed, flkip a coin. So she isn't dehydrated once in a while, she's dehydrated
all the time. Like... This is my mother. She likes country music by musciians who've been dead for decades. She has snow-white hair. She is yay tall. She likes black and white westerns and detective movies from the '40s and '50s. She weighs this much. She is dehydrated. She loves animals but feels she cannot take care of one, so she won't have one. She's... Dehydration is a part of her, and that makes EVERYTHING worse.
I've read all kinds of horror stories about people who are dealing with parents who are... empty upstairs. And my heart goes out to them, it really, truly does. You lives must be so difficult, and not truly your own any more. But I sometimes find myself wondering, you know? If your elderly loved one is deemed not mentally competent, at least YOU have the say in where she lives, when she eats/drinks (
that she eats/drinks), et cetera. I guess that's no kind of compensation for what your parent has lost, but... IDK. If they're still able to make decisions for themselves, then you don't have a whole lot of say in what those decisions are. Kind of thing, IDFK.
Painting is kind of seasonal around here. If I could see better, maybe. If I wasn't, well... I'm still willing to put in the hours, whatever they may be, but I'm not as quick as I used to be, either. If I hadn't sold my wheels to pay for other expenses ("housing-related") and could do more work on my own instead of working for someone else, maybe it'd be different. (If you're ever faced with the choice of selling your vehicle or becoming homeless, well, learn to enjoy sleeping in your car - you'll be far better off. I've been there, and I made the wrong choice. I'm there now. It... There really isn't anything about it that doesn't suck balls.)
So work, yeah, slower than evolution right now. And there's not even any snow on the ground yet (freezing rain, we got, but...). So I put in a job application at the local Taco Bell. BIG help wanted sign in the window. I got an interview!!! A person could show up half an hour late, prison tattoos all over, hair down to their ass (I mean a guy could), stumble in drunk and drooling, and still get a job
there, right? But me, I put on what passes for my best clothes (at least they were clean), shaved the beard I've had longer than most of my relationships lasted, trimmed the mustache down to "it'd blow away in a stiff breeze - or disappear if I was asked if I'd mind losing it), fresh store-bought haircut... walked over well before the interview, went in a few minutes early, smiled until my cheeks hurt, yes sir, no sir, any hours, as many as I can get, work any day or all of them if needed. Yes sir, I know the menu - and what goes on every item. I can point to each one, approximately how much goes on which menu item... Secret menu? Yes sir, I am familiar with all your former menu items back to the early '80s and know how to make the vast majority. Why, yes, sir, I have used a cash register before.
Math? Well, it's been a while since high school, but I did all right until pre-calculus, and I managed to pass that, too. I agree, ending a shift with your drawer over is every bit as coming up short - either way means someone screwed up, and that's not acceptable. In between helping customers at the hardware store I used to work at, I used to work the cash register - unless we were slow, then I often did the accounts unless there was something that needed to be cleaned or a truck to check in, merchandise to price and stock, or anything else pressing. No, I don't think I'd have any trouble learning how to operate yours even though it's not an old-fashioned model - I've been using various computers since 1981 (well before he was born, so that might not have been the wisest thing to say, but it came out without thinking on my part). Bathrooms? Absolutely, who would want to eat at a restaurant where the bathrooms weren't spotless? People might begin wondering what the parts of the kitchen that they couldn't see looked like if something they could see was below par? Do I need to depend on someone else for transportation? No, sir - I live within a half hour from here (didn't mention that was at a fast walk), so if someone calls off, unless there is an unforeseen emergency, I could be there within 45 minutes or so. No, I'd never call off due to weather. Yes, ha ha, you're right, people DO eat even when it's not warm and sunny out,
good one, sir. Yes, I can accept that kind of wage and, yes, I do believe that, regardless of what a person is getting paid, since they are getting paid they should do the job to the best of their ability at all times and...
On and on and f*cking
on, do they ask the high school drop-out ex-con mouth-breathers this crap when they interview
them?! Because I've eaten at Taco Bell approximately... IDK... probably between 7,500 and 10,000 times since the first one came to my area way back in the early '80s (I know, but we all have our... little issues
). And I couldn't even estimate the number of times when I've left the place after checking my order and thought, "Awesome, they got my order right this time. That makes, let's see... ONE in a row!"
I laid it on thick enough to sculpt - and with 99% sincerity, too. Because I wasn't there interviewing due to mommy and daddy getting tired of paying me an allowance, or because I wanted to buy a new... whatever it is that kids buy these days, a new iPhone, maybe. Oh, yeah, the guy asked me if I thought I could make it through an
entire shift "without playing with my cell phone
too much." (I guess that amount was up to me to define???) Like... WtF? I'm not planning on being there for a play-date.
I
wanted that job. Well... In complete honesty: I wanted A job, and if I had been at all picky about where and what, I'd have never applied there, but they were hiring and I like to sleep indoors and eat once in a while, lol so, yeah, I wanted it. And I know how to play the "contact them to check, but not too often - or wait too long" game to keep me in their mind without attaching annoyance to it. This wasn't my first rodeo and all that.
Still interviewing, haven't decided, blah blah blah. Sorry, we've filled all positions. Yes, we'll keep your application on file...
How's that for a swift kick in the nuts?
But wait, there's more...
So the other day, my buddy showed up. Said he was down helping his sister and left her house hungry, and asked me if I was, too. I replied that I was and that I could come up with something for us to eat if he wasn't real picky. "No, I got seven bucks, lets go 'pig out' on Taco Bell's dollar menu. I'll get old fart discount (he's still got his old man beard), so if you can come up with a dollar or two, we'll leave full." So off we went, and in we went...
...and we're at the register and this kid is trying to take our order. The cash register is like... Well you could run it if you couldn't read or write, just touch the screen. And he said - and this is a direct quote here (and, kid, if that was you and you happen to be reading this, well, I wouldn't admit to it if I was you and I don't have a drop of pride left, so...), "Uhh... You'll have to give me a couple minutes because I just turned 16 and only started yesterday. This is my first job." (He said that last part like he was letting us in on a secret.)
We sat down and I realized that I didn't even feel like eating.
Life.
Yay.
The best day I've had this year was - okay, that would have been getting to make the day-trip to visit Susan in the 'burgh before she moved south to begin the next chapter in her life. Second best... I got nuthin'. No, I take that back. I was able to buy lunch for Mom and myself not too awfully long ago, and she told me that not only had she enjoyed the outing, she liked the sub we split, too. When it comes to food, eating
anywhere other than at her house, from her kitchen, she has always been kind of... Hmm. Okay, have you ever seen an old map? I mean a
really old one, from centuries back, where around the edges the legend states "Beyond here be dragons," lol? Okay, then think
that. So to have her tell me afterwards that she had a good time AND liked the food, it was like... Wow, I didn't know it was Christmas already
. So those two days I remember as being stellar ones. But that's about it for good days. The rest of the year, I'd just as soon have slept through completely. I'd be happy to sleep through
something. "The night" would be my first choice, but just like with most everything else, I find I'm not nearly as picky as I used to be.
So, yeah, that's me. That's my life, or at least the high points of it. I think... I "come here" for the same reasons everyone else does, of course: To help others and maybe learn a thing or two, myself, while I'm at it. But another ereason I do is because when I'm reading and posting, I rarely have to
think, you know? Any more, I don't really like to think much. I start my day depressed as f*ck - and the day just goes down from there, like stepping off acliff. So if I can just go through the motions to kill time until the next time I manage to crash from exhaustion for a couple three hours, that's... It's what I've got. So for those of you who don't mind putting up with me, thank you for that. For those who think I'm an asshole, I can't alwasy disagree with you and, oft times, figure you're probably correct. So for that portion of the
membership, you have my apologies.
And to everyone, if I post a question, get a bunch of answers and then a week later, post the same question, I guess I'm sorry about that, too. Or i I post something for someone and turn around and post the same information tomorrow, same deal. Turns out if you go through life stressed-out and exhausted enough the mind... It gets holes in it. That whole "sins of a misspent youth" thing wouldn't have helped, but the rest is probably most of it. Last night - I don't know what caused me to start recalling it, but I started remembering the last place I lived before I moved here. It was an apratment and I lived there for four years. So i was remembering the rooms, what was in each one, and I got to the bathroom. Basic, small bathroom. I remembered the door, the floor, the patterns in the texture on the ceiling, the tub/shower, the tile, the door on the bathroom closet, the window, the commode... and then I realized that, from the edge of the commode all along that wall to the corner where the door out of the bathroom was... was an absolute blank. And I'm talking
blank - as in a void. That's what I mean by "holes in the mind." I know there was a sink there - because there
must have been, yeah? They put those in bathrooms, and I have NO knowledge of one, so logic tells me that that's where it was, somewhere on that "missing" wall. Was there a medicine cabinet over the sink? I HAVE NO IDEA! A mirror? You got me. I remember
nothing about that entire part of the bathroom, not one... single... thing. Did I brush my teeth there? Shave my neck and trim my beard? Repair the sink's plumbing? Paint that wall (FFS?!) when I painted the rest of the bathroom? I. Don't. KNOW!!!
It sucks, but it's more unsettling(?) than anything else, at least much of the time. I've suspected this thing, these holes in my mind/memory for a good while now. Thougth that my brain, "trying to be helpful," was kind of filling in some blank spots creatively so as to have something there. You "remember" something, then "remember" it completely differently, then "remember" it as something different still... You begin to wonder. I guess I'm better off now that it's not doing that any more - but the holes are growing, and there are more of them. I'll think about doing something and realize that I don't know how to do it - or even if I've done it before, when common sense tells me that I
must have; I'm 48 years old, and I've been taking care of myself since before I entered kindergarten in many ways. Fried my first eggs & bacon breakfast at 3 or 4 years old (that was for Mom during one of the times she would just stay in her bedroom bawling all the time, I do remember that). Knew how to do - and did do - laundry occasionally beginning not long after that. Some of my vehicles made the term "beater with a heater" seem overly optimistic - and I managed to keep them running for years. Electronic stuff. Saw the very first computer in person at age 11 - a Commodore PET-2001, I remember that, too - in school, and without having a single bit of instruction, manual, etc. I taught myself BASIC by trying different commands until I'd figured 95%+ of them out by trial and error. Not just what each one was for and how to use it - but what each one
was.
So I must have been able to do the things that I find myself getting ready to do, only to realize that I haven't the foggiest notion of how to go about doing it. It's even affecting my communication skills. I can still type fairly quick - but I'll be puttering right along and just stop because I can't figure out the
words. Not how to spell the things, but what they are. I'll end up thinking - and, upon occasion, saying out loud like a moron - the portion that I've already come up with and then jsut almost randomly trying words until I get it figured out. It's not... I'm not a doddering old man, so it must just be exhaustion and stuff, but
man. My sh!t is f*cked up, if you'll pardon my language.
It's not fun any more, dig?
IDK. I felt like sharing. Completely inappropriate thing to share, off-topic, etc., but... There you go, it might be long for a forum post but I figure it's pretty short for: The story of my life.
Hope you're having a better day than I am. Or a better yesterday, at least. A better tomorrow. . . .