The days come and go. Things happen that feel *noteworthy* but I’m not taking notes. In my head, a dozen times, I’ve thought about posting those pictures I took at UNL last week. I got invited by my darling daughter to read poems in the sound booth for an assignment. I’d never been in a sound booth before, with the fancy equipment and computer in the control room, padding on the walls, and a separate room where I would patiently wait to read my poems. I waited a long time because she knew how to do just about everything with the equipment and the software except record an audio track. Such a simple thing, but all the right buttons had to be pushed and she didn’t know the secret handshake. Not until another student who forgot their headphones showed up. Thank the almighty Cheesus.
I’m not foolin. I’ve literally spent more time thinking about posting pictures about stuff that happened in the last week than doing the actual stuff. So dumb. And a massive waste of my brain power and time. I guess I am also counting the time I spent thinking about writing another blog post with updates. But, obvi I didn’t do that either. Until now.
At present, I am uselessly sitting in my mother’s house, hiding in the back room because she’s got the Wheel of Fortune on and I really can’t stand it. What a waste of time. I wonder how old I will be before shit like that doesn’t feel like a waste of time.
Scratch that. I already waste time on other stupid shows like Master Chef and The Bachelorette so I guess I can’t talk too much smack about my mom and her shows. What I can talk smack about is the fact that I am here for no other reason than to try to be a supportive daughter. Because she doesn’t really need me, she just needs me here in some way so she can brag to other people that her daughters are taking care of her.
I did pick her up from the hospital earlier today and brought her home. And took her to pick up a prescription from Walgreens, did some grocery shopping, and fixed us dinner. So that’s not nothing, but she’s clearly entirely capable of doing all that herself as this latest surgery is super minor compared to her previous three which were whoppers.
Anyway, here I sit (hide) as there is nothing left for me to do and I’ve committed to spending the night, I guess for appearances, and for.. as Jim says.. moral support. To which I replied that I was fresh out.
I’m not sure what it is with my parents but I’ve recently realized they both have this inability to deal with silence. They have to comment on everything or always be talking about something or else have the TV on. Even with the TV on, they still keep talking. I noticed my mom having to think of stuff to say on the 25-minute car ride home today—conversation about the helicopters that come and go from the hospital roof, and about the night there was a storm and the lightning kept flashing her in her eyes even though she could not hear the thunder and then repeating things that need to be taken care of today.
I reply briefly, with “uh huh” and “yeah” but what else am I gonna say? I’m not super excited about anything. After a while it makes me turn into a grumpy bitch I think. This lack of silence is the first level of hell I think.
I was sitting on the couch when the “Wheel” came on and I got up and took my glass of white wine back to the table. Of course, she wants to know “why.”
“I don’t care for it,” I said. And then feel guilty because I’m not a big enough person to sit there and watch a show I don’t want to watch. But I bet if she didn’t want to watch something she would leave the room too. That’s a sure bet!
But now what? Do I just hide in here for the night since she does not really need me? Terrible to say, but I have nothing I can think to have a conversation about. Ugh. Why am I here??!!
It’s several hours later now and the middle of the night. I’ve decided I’ve arrived in another layer of Dante’s inferno. First it was the TV and one too many episodes of Law and Order SVU, a show where apparently every episode is about sexual assault. Special. At 9 I decided it was not too early to give up the day and got ready for bed. I proceeded to read one of the two books I brought with me, neither of which is enticing enough to get lost in the way I’d love to get lost in. I turn the lights out and try to sleep.
Did I mention I was in hell? My mom likes it incredibly hot and it’s about 80 degrees in here. I’m in the back bedroom where there is noise from constant traffic from the main road and bright street lights that penetrate the window shade. I’m exhausted from two previous terrible nights sleep at home and my body falls asleep despite this. Then wakes up at precisely 11:09. I’m sweaty and congested and not sure why I did not seek out actuall bed pillows to use besides these decorative throws.
I open the window to get some air and what wafts in is the smell of fire smoke. You know, the kind that reminds you of autumn and you get a little smile cuz it’s kind of a nice smell until you remember that it wears out its welcome after about 5 minutes in the nostrils and then you can’t stand it. Yeah that.
I layed here until about 11:30 thinking about what I can do since I’m wide awake and my mind is just plain pissed off…. Which is what led to this current rant. 8 More hours and I can go home. Praise Chessus.
Overly dramatic much? I guess that what happens when I’m way outside the comfort zone and being deprived of sleep. Also, I’ve decided I hate my mom’s house and her impossibly uncomfortable daybed..
I made it through the night. It’s 7:15am and have about an hour to go. I watched a few episodes of a show on my phone in the middle of the freaking night and went back to sleep around 1. Woke up at 2 with a dream and went back to sleep again.
What a stupid post this turned out to be. Thanks for sticking with me through the play-by-play.
Hopefully the next one is less rant-y and I have something more noteworthy. Perhaps this weekend when I’m scheduled to do my next reading in Omaha. Who knew it would be so soon after the last?!
Anyway, that’s it for now.
Peace and love,