Dear Hearts,
I have got about half an hour. At five Aunt Faerie comes to pick up Papa for dinner and then will get him before Lawrence Welk at seven p.m. CT, which plays full tilt. So at five, I have my CC&P (coffee, cigarettes, and prayers—an hour is assumed).
Papa makes it hard to not kill him sometimes. Mom thought that was a really funny quote. She knows I’m joking. You have to utilize humor sometimes, or else the sorrow and frustration overwhelm you. Like Papa will be early to his own funeral and if anyone is late, boy is that guy in trouble.
He has now taken objection to my vaping my Blu E-Cigarette. But he only told me as he was on the way out to go to pie with Dr. Swede. He wouldn’t tell me whilst I was doing it, because he knew I’d not “Yes, sir” him.
This week his cath bag broke and I had to replace it with an “inferior” cath bag and wipe the urine off him and the bathroom floor. He wanted to go through the garbage for his urine soaked torn cath bag and find the little plastic cap. The plastic cap would not the new bag. But, he wanted to save it. He says I have stuff? Fuck that. He saves A LOT. Mom and Aunt Faerie wait until you get down in that basement someday.
I argued with him. Raising my voice with me is the norm because he is so deaf, but I was yelling at him.
“No! I will not let you got through urine soaked garbage for a cap. It’s disgusting and unsanitary!”
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. When he saw that I was willing to take the garbage out at 10 o’clock at night, he let it go.
Mom said she probably would have donned rubber gloves and dutifully gone through the garbage for the cap.
He will appeal to Aunt Faerie and Mom about my vaping. He reads these “Fake News” articles about how vaping will kill you and those around you. I try to throw out this junk mail before he reads it—like detox your colon today for only $100 or DON’T DRINK tap water because it causes Alzheimer’s. What he should be worried about is all the Lysol I use in this house. That is probably more hazardous. And, it always screwed up T’s drug and alcohol blood tests. Lysol shows up as alcohol in your blood. It’s true. Ask T.
The man (Papa) does not wash his hand after he empties his catheter. He just doesn’t wash his hands much at all! Ironic for me to be living with him. And, why does he leave used diapers around the house in various and odd places? I haven’t gotten the stomach up to go around and collect them all in a garbage bag.
I am vaping right now in the living room and he’s in the back room. Not a clue. AND he is TOTALLY oblivious to when I actually smoke cigarettes.
He is old and his brain misfires. He can look at a plumbing fixture that he put in 30 years ago and tell you all the technical details on it…but the judgment and memory…misfires.
So, what may kill Papa is the word “No.”
I cannot get past BB—I obsessively think about it. Here is an insight…
(It’s 4.40 and he is getting ready for Aunt Faerie. He will sit and watch for her at the door.)
The first year I taught was sweet mother of fuck hell.
Even the first few years at The School (where I taught for 13 years) were hell. Truly. But, I didn’t give up on teaching.
I left The Hell Catholic School where I taught for a year. But, it didn’t dissuade me from teaching forever.
I learned from BB that I want to work with domestic abuse victims. But, they ain’t the only gig in town. But they can’t take that desire, dream, or passion from me. Right now, Papa is the focus.
Fifty percent of your time at a job should not be figuring out politics and how to cover your ass. Fuck ‘em.
I took two Xanax and went for a run in 14-degree weather after I boiled over about Papa and vaping. I feel better.
Tonight is Movie Night and Chocolate Chocolate Chip pie night.
Do I still feel like I do when I blogged last? Fuck, yes. But it’s those oases I live for. The coffee and cigarette. The pie. The cross stitching. Angel. The TV shows.
4:50. He is ready and at the door. Christ on a cracker.
If God works through people then:
Thanks, Penny. You give me hope. I may find the love of my life yet.
Paul, I am sorry your wife has “the cancer” but thanks for admiring my look and saying that he could tell I was grateful for my blessings.
Stop fighting and accept and that I am gonna feel this way. Mom’s text that she loves me and well, just is there for me is what I need. Nobody can fix me, but me. And, on that I am more clueless than I was in high school geometry.
“Reckon it nothing but joy…whenever you find yourself hedged in by the various trials, be assured that the testing of you faith leads to power of endurance.” (James 1:2-3)
“God hedges in His own in order to protect them. Yet often they only see the wrong side of the hedge and therefore misunderstand His actions…Onto the pages of every trial there are narrow shafts of light that shine. Thorns will not prick you until you lean against them, and not one will touch you without God knowing. The words that hurt you, the letter that caused you pain, the cruelty of your closest friend, your financial need—they are all known to Him. He sympathizes as no one else can and watches to see if through it all, you will DARE to trust Him completely.”
Rivers in the Deserts
I don’t God tests me. But, I will dare…
Be still… And know that I am God… Do not be afraid…He restoreth my soul…”
I’m out. Peace. CC&P and Howling time! Papa is out!
Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless
In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Ailbhe; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.
Grateful For:
Pie
Aunt Faerie’s meatloaf
Faith
Health
Sleep
Several hours later: the pall, the wet wool blanket, the black bag descends
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