(no subject)
Short version: My cat came back and my mom's sick.
Long version:
Well, I was right when I said everything comes in threes. However, I was wrong about what. Last night Athena my calico came back after being gone for a whole week. (Yea!) I thought she was a goner. She’s lost about 10% of her bodyweight but isn’t loosing hair and doesn’t have any bruises. Maybe she fell asleep in a truck and woke up miles from here and had to Homeward Bound ™ herself back here.
But in place of a dead Athena on the three tragedies list, my mother was just diagnosed with degenerative disk disease and vertebrae misalignment. Simply put, her injury that has kept her immobile for the last 4 months is, in fact, permanent. They might be able to fix it surgically, but the crazy lady says “she’s not ready for that.”
I’ve only been home for 3 weeks and I’m already wishing someone would put her back on psychotropics. This woman has been depressed for the last 6 years. How do I know? Well, besides living with her, I’m slowly discovering that she hasn’t done anything since I left for school. The living room is still half remodeled; the attic and basement are overrun with rodents for want of cleaning. Hell, the dust bunnies I found under the living room couch were probably sentient. And a quick review of her finances reveals she hasn’t even cooked for herself. How can some server always recognize her no matter where we go to eat? I don’t think she’s grocery shopped or cooked since the last time I did it for her. Not to mention the constant bitchyness.
What’s that you say? Calling my mother a bitch is the pot calling the kettle black? Not quite, I’m the first to admit I’m a bitch, but I’m not an unpleasant bitch. My mother hasn’t been happy since I got back. I swear if she wasn’t in such pain and I thought this was her new personality I’d be out of here so fast all you’d see is a Maegan-shaped hole in the wall.
I don’t think this bitch is her new personality, but I do think she likes it. I was exaggerating when I said she hasn’t been pleasant for nearly a month. She has been tolerable for exactly eighteen hours. That’s six hours a day for the last three days. How do I know this so precisely? It’s because that’s how long her high lasts. That’s right ladies (I don’t flatter myself to think any gentlemen read this) we’ve degenerated to the point I can only like my mother when she’s on narcotics. And the only reason she’s even consented to taking her oxycodone is because I called, pretended I was her and got her emergency care prescription from last winter renewed and supplemented.
How fucking depressed do you have to be to intentionally keep yourself miserable and in physical pain for a whole season? I swear just being in this place makes me spiritually constipated.
Long version:
Well, I was right when I said everything comes in threes. However, I was wrong about what. Last night Athena my calico came back after being gone for a whole week. (Yea!) I thought she was a goner. She’s lost about 10% of her bodyweight but isn’t loosing hair and doesn’t have any bruises. Maybe she fell asleep in a truck and woke up miles from here and had to Homeward Bound ™ herself back here.
But in place of a dead Athena on the three tragedies list, my mother was just diagnosed with degenerative disk disease and vertebrae misalignment. Simply put, her injury that has kept her immobile for the last 4 months is, in fact, permanent. They might be able to fix it surgically, but the crazy lady says “she’s not ready for that.”
I’ve only been home for 3 weeks and I’m already wishing someone would put her back on psychotropics. This woman has been depressed for the last 6 years. How do I know? Well, besides living with her, I’m slowly discovering that she hasn’t done anything since I left for school. The living room is still half remodeled; the attic and basement are overrun with rodents for want of cleaning. Hell, the dust bunnies I found under the living room couch were probably sentient. And a quick review of her finances reveals she hasn’t even cooked for herself. How can some server always recognize her no matter where we go to eat? I don’t think she’s grocery shopped or cooked since the last time I did it for her. Not to mention the constant bitchyness.
What’s that you say? Calling my mother a bitch is the pot calling the kettle black? Not quite, I’m the first to admit I’m a bitch, but I’m not an unpleasant bitch. My mother hasn’t been happy since I got back. I swear if she wasn’t in such pain and I thought this was her new personality I’d be out of here so fast all you’d see is a Maegan-shaped hole in the wall.
I don’t think this bitch is her new personality, but I do think she likes it. I was exaggerating when I said she hasn’t been pleasant for nearly a month. She has been tolerable for exactly eighteen hours. That’s six hours a day for the last three days. How do I know this so precisely? It’s because that’s how long her high lasts. That’s right ladies (I don’t flatter myself to think any gentlemen read this) we’ve degenerated to the point I can only like my mother when she’s on narcotics. And the only reason she’s even consented to taking her oxycodone is because I called, pretended I was her and got her emergency care prescription from last winter renewed and supplemented.
How fucking depressed do you have to be to intentionally keep yourself miserable and in physical pain for a whole season? I swear just being in this place makes me spiritually constipated.