Ever get annoyed? Ever feel like someone needs to be told where the dog died? Or handed a crowbar and a tub of Elbow Grease to help them pry their head out of their arse? Congratulations--you've come to the right place.

And when I'm not commenting on the latest thing to piss me off, I'm trying to figure out my own twisted life. Because, hey, I'm like that.

On a gentler note: for anyone dealing with depression, anxiety, and other assorted bullshit: You are NOT alone.

And if you're looking for a laugh, search on the key word "fuckery." It's just my little thing (as the bishop said to the actress).

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Well, that blew today's plans...

Greetings, oh, my cherished blurkers, from the emergency room of Lawrence Memorial Hospital in Medford, MA.

NOT where I'd planned to start my day--I was planning to go to the gym when I woke this morning, get back in the swing of lifting again, trim down the flab and tone up the muscles again, get the body beautiful and drop at least four more pants sizes.

For once, something utterly inane is not on the television--Quigley Down Under, an amusing film that I'm tuning out thanks to the Silversun Pickups on the lappie. I like Tom Selleck--likable fella, not a half bad actor, and of course, Alan Rickman playing an asshole. That man is still hotter than sin... it's the voice. I would have gladly ripped off the Ken doll bit of makeup in Dogma and shagged him so long as he kept talking.

Yes, I am distracting myself. It's 2:30 p.m. I was woken from a sound sleep around 11ish because Ma fell in the kitchen. Full face plant. I mean, flat down. "Help me!" I'm trying to get up, get out of the tangle of blankets and put on pj bottoms, while shaking off sleep and the cat. Let me tell you, lifting someone off their face is not easy. It's fuck-all difficult. It's a good thing she only weighs about 150ish. Maybe less at this point, who knows. I couldn't have done it before her gastric bypass in 2000.

Yeah, fat runs in the family, at least over on this stout branch of it. She's dropped over 200 pounds since her surgery; the kidney disease over the past few years has helped her to keep it off and lose more, which is a good thing, considering she still tries to eat like a fat person. *sigh* It's really annoying. Seh actually misses "her best friend" i.e. food. I don't get that part of things. Food has never been my friend--I mean, I'm allergic to so much stuff, things that are both good and bad for me, and so much makes me puke and always has--do you know how frustrating it is not to be able to eat seafood, fish, sweet potatoes? IT SUCKS. All this good stuff that is so good for the body, and it just makes me either vomit or stink like a garbage pail in high summer.

And Mum... Mum still sees herself as fat and ugly. *shakes head* Sad.

Anyway, she did a full face plant. I had to shift all kinds of crap in the kitchen (surprise, surprise. The cleaners are going to be ordered to finish that shithole next and forget the rest of the house until it's completely cleared and organized. I am NOT doing this again; strong as I am and back to the gym as I'm going, my back and knees don't like deadlifting in non-ideal situations that do not have soft mats and safety stops built in), lift her to her knees, and then get her on her feet.

And she promptly stomped on mine, making me scream. "TOES! MY TOES!" And she pitched over the kitchen table, with me trying to hold her steady from behind to keep her from slipping back to the floor while trying to get my naked feet out from under her Frankensteinish stompers, screaming in pain, and catching sight of the blood on the floor.

I really hate the site of blood. It stresses me out.

Finally managed to get her into the chair and saw her face. *sigh* HUGE goose egg over her right eye--gigantic--cut and bleeding all over. I said, "You're going to the hospital. Let me get dressed."

Ten minutes later, I'm back down from the bathroom, she's got a tissue held to her head to catch the blood. Got her to wash it off while I dressed, got nagged by the cat whilst I dressed because she wanted the bed back, got out there to find she'd taped a bit of gauze over it and fed the cat.


"You're still going to the hospital."
"Yeah, after I looked at it, Lee, I think I should."

More progress.

So by the time we got to LMH, her eye is swollen to the point it looks like a purple bag of blood, and she's walking incredibly unsteady. She's had a CAT scan by now, and I'm sitting here, writing and waiting, dealing with the reek of old lady perfume drowning out the stench of hangover & fresh alcohol on one of the gang members sleeping at the kids table across from me. Forgot my writing music, so I'm listening to the Silversuns. Hoping the new Zune will have arrived so I can fully load my music up and download the stuff I want and am missing.

And yeah, I'm hoping Mum is all right--no concussion or stitches. It would be a relief. But it also means I have to talk to her doc on Monday because this is bad fall number two in a week. And she needs a cognitive functioning test. I'm trying not to think too much about it because I will start weeping. I love my mother, but I don't see things getting better. It's not fair, not for her or me.

But then, life never is.

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