It Pains Me…
It pains me to see my mother struggle with her mental illness. She has had a rough past few months with lots of ups and downs. I thought maybe it was me – that all she does for me puts too much pressure on her. Thus my conversation with her yesterday. She is terrible at handling stress and pressure.
Tonight, she called me fretting over her meal tonight with her friend and going to get my groceries tomorrow. She said she had been driving back and forth down through the Valley endlessly in worry. She didn’t know if she could do all that, but she couldn’t bring herself to cancel. Mom and I have two distinctly different modus operandi as far as when our mental illnesses flare up. Mom gets hyper, manic and super sensitive. I get dour, depressed and paranoid – mostly not leaving the house. Sequestered, as dad will call it.
“Will it be okay if I don’t bring you your Mexican meal tonight?” mom asked me over the phone at five.
“Go ahead and put my six cokes on the porch and I will be happy,” I told her. “That’s all you have to do tonight.”
“I am going to call Sandra now and tell her I can’t make it.”
“I think that would be for the best,” I replied.
I drove over to get my cokes and mom was at the back door just about to put the plastic sack with six diet Cokes on the floor of the porch.
“I know what we will do tomorrow about groceries,” I told her, thinking our lives are always ever complicated.
“What?” mom asked, handing me my Cokes.
“You are going to sit in the car and give me a check to my account. I will go in, get my groceries, write a check, and drive us home.”
“What if you buy beer or wine?” mom asked with this consternated look on her face. “Your father would kill me.”
“Ever complicated,” I thought.
“You can check my groceries when I get back out to the car,” I said.
“You sure it will be okay?”
“Yes, I am sure it will be okay, and I promise you I will play nice. No funny business.”
“I am probably going to have to take six of my Xanax to make it that far,” mom told me. “That would help me so much, though. We just won’t tell your father.”
I gave mom a hug, telling her to go to bed, and I left. I drove home distinctly remembering thinking if there was a God, he sure can play some cruel jokes on us mere mortals. I certainly hoped there was no mental illness in the afterlife if there is such a thing. My trials and tribulations have made me such a cynical human being.
George Goes Dualie…
George called me this afternoon after waking. This first thing I wanted to know is what he had for supper.
“Momma cooked some fried chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, peas, and biscuits,” he said. “You want me to bring you a plate?”
“No. Don’t go to any trouble,” I said, my stomach rumbling. “I just like to hear it. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“Will you follow me to the car repair shop when I get off in the morning?” George asked.
"Sure,” I said. “Is something wrong with your car?”
“No,” George replied. “I am getting a dual exhaust system with turbo mufflers put on the Caprice. What do you think it will sound like?”
“It is going to be loud and rumbly,” I scoffed. “You are going to sound like a redneck driving around town.”
George laughed. I told him I would be over at the house about eight and George said Mrs. Florene would have some breakfast ready. George only paid $1500 on that car and is going to quickly surpass that soon with what he is spending. You have to love old cars to understand.