I'd only been awake for about 3 minutes. I was ambulatory, but still at the stage where I might put pepper in my coffee instead of sugar, or put the milk away in the freezer instead of the fridge and not even realize it. I sat down in my computer chair, just starting to collect my brain cells into a grouping powerful enough to restore my status as a sentient life-form, and as soon as my ass hit the seat, the phone started ringing. Again.
I knew who was calling.
As I listened to the initial "brrr-beep" I fully considered answering it and explaining that I had only just woken up, but by the second ring I felt glued to the chair by a powerful, almost other-worldly force that whispered in my ear "Fuck that." It didn't assuage the guilt, however, of ignoring my Grandmother's seventeenth phone call, phone calls that started on Monday when I was still on my way home from Richmond, Virginia, where I attended the wedding of one of my few remaining close friends. I've been meaning to call her back. Really I have. And ignoring these calls hasn't been fully intentional.
I spent the first night home on Monday just resting and recovering from the action-packed weekend. Tuesday was spent catching up on chores and cleaning up the house from my mother's weekend rampage and cleaning up puddles of cat pee around the litter boxes where my furry friends expressed their outrage that I would leave the house for more than a day. Every time the phone rang I had my hands full or I was otherwise occupied. By Tuesday night I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep, but the phone kept on ringing, and I let it. I wound up having a bit of insomnia, but by the time I gave up on sleeping for a while, it was too late to call Granny. I DID however text my best friend Gaulke, and express my guilt that I had bad news for Granny.
My Grandparents are having a 62nd wedding anniversary party on Sunday, and they want me to help. Only thing is, I'd made plans with friends to (don't laugh) go to the Renaissance Festival on that day. I wasn't eager to tell her that instead of celebrating her long union with my frail, aging Grandfather, I would be eating a giant turkey leg and yelling "Huzzah" at a jousting tourney. Gaulke said I should be able to do what I want sometimes, and that I shouldn't feel bad about it. It's not like I leave my house more than semi-annually. Sure, I could have canceled my plans to see my friends, but just because I live here doesn't mean I'm obligated to attend every function. I'm allowed to have a life outside of elder-care. The rest of the grandchildren are off pursuing their lives and I'm the only one here who sticks around and helps them out, anyway. I should be able to go do young-person things sometimes!
Besides, I'm still cooking them dinner tomorrow night, as I do once every single week. I'm motivated to do the shopping TODAY, like, within the next 2 hours, so I can borrow the car, because I'm down to my last 2 cigarettes, and that will NOT do. Besides, if I get the shopping out of the way today, I only have to worry about the cooking and cleaning tomorrow.
Good fucking God, I hate my life.
Getting away for the weekend was {{~*indescribably wonderful*~}}. Now I feel like Cinderella after the ball. My coach has turned back into a pumpkin. I must return to my endless list of chores and my shitty little life, where, even though it seems like I never get anything done, I still don't have time for all the things I want to do.
It's my own special hell. Barely staying afloat, without much reward for my efforts. Today's goal? Do what I have to do REALLY RIDICULOUSLY FAST so I can spend the rest of the day doing what I want. Unfortunately, that still means I have to hurtle through at least 9 time-consuming tasks before I can do what I want. I'm starting to think that life would be better if I started taking amphetamines in the morning.
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