My Life as a... Book?!?
So... within the span of 24 hours, I've had two of my closest friends compare to me to a pair of long-suffering, female literary figures.
WTF?!?
The first allusion was made by my Korea-based BFF
mi_danielito, who after learning of my current familial plight, made the endearing (but bone-headed) comparison of my life to that of Tita', the enslaved but passionate protagonist of Laura Esquivel's opus, Like Water for Chocolate.
Back Story:
Ever since my mother's bout w/ cancer almost twenty years ago, I've somehow emerged as the default caregiver in my family. Not for the lack of any desire to, I've always found myself in that odd and precarious position. Through it all, I've managed to learn a great deal about myself doing so. (Perhaps that's why a great number of people would rather eat broken glass than assume the day-to-day responsibility of caring for loved ones, especially older or elderly parents.)
Anyhoo... the latest medical melodrama for my folks is a dual conundrum: My father is going to have both his knee joints replaced after a bout w/ Guillain-Barre' Syndrome nearly ruined the originals some seven years ago. (As it is, the man can barely walk at all.) This means he'll be in physical rehab for the next three months; three months of which I'll have to pick up the slack, helping them out w/ their daily routine as it were. Which is fine since I'm technically still unemployed, and am freely able to do so. The greater challenge is caring for my Mother. To many of you out there, I haven't really felt comfortable discussing the details about my Mom at length. However, for the last two-- perhaps three-- years, my Mom has displayed increasingly aggravated symptoms of either possibly a serious bipolar disorder, or the onset of early Alzheimer's. Extreme mood swings, paranoia, forgetfulness, obsessive-compulsiveness, emotional/verbal attacks-- you name it. Unfortunately, there's very little any of us can since she refuses to be seen by any psychiatric professional. So all we can do is to monitor her daily emotions and deal. Some days, she's sweetest and nicest woman; other days, she can be a maniacally insane monster.
Now I gladly do all of this for my Dad; the man has consistently been there for me over the years, and for the most part we've had a great relationship-- so let there be no lingering assumptions that I'm being forcibly conscripted against my will like poor Tita. However, there will come a time and place where I just won't have the energy, patience or desire. A time and place when words "assisted living" may actually put my own mind at ease.
The second allusion took place as I drove the other BFF known as beastishere to work this afternoon. W/ Laura Esquivel's Tita lingering in the back of my mind, Dhino and I bantered back and forth about the kind of books and writers that most represented us. And rather than the tender but feisty heroine of Esquivel's novel, apparently my own best friend feels that I fall more along the lines of Caitlin Thomas, indulgent and melancholic wife of melancholic poet, Dylan Thomas. According to him, her memoirs-- Leftover Life to Kill-- best epitomizes my current state. (Which is odd, since I'm not all spinning into a self-indulgent black hole of drink, drugs and dicking (That was last year.) If anything, the last few months have found me withdrawing and withtracting; a clear symptom of the umemployment blues and a slowly dwindling bank account. The closest analogy to Thomas and her book that I can readily muster? The gut-wrenching aimlessness and lack of direction that we possibly share. The lack of direction and purpose with which haunted Caitlin following Dylan's death, and the my own frustrating inability the figure the next chapter in my life. The overwhelming need to find a find a job-- any job-- in this hell hole of an economy versus actually finding a real career, perhaps going back to school (and trying to figure out how to pay for all of it.) Trying to figure out what exactly I want from life, from love, and most importantly, from myself.
Hmm... maybe what I really need is just a soul-satisfying meal from Tita, and a strong shot of fiery whisky w/ Caitlin, no... ?