So, the die is cast, and the appointment of doom has been set for 1 p.m. July 19. She asked if I wanted 8:30 a.m., and I was like, "Oh, honey that'd be waaaaaaaaay to early to deal." Surprisingly, she had a sense of humor about it. Now, my accountant is going to go through my files and see what we need, and then at some point we're going to meet and do a "mini-audit" so I know what to expect. But again, I'm really not that freaked out about it. I mean, I usually never have a reason to go rooting around in the files once my taxes are done for the year, so other than a few things, I don't think it's going to be a mad dash for anything. Laugh if you want, but having Greta organize my shit for me is the best thing I ever do for myself. Seriously, girl should pimp that shit out as a business.
Meanwhile, not much is going on here in Chez Broad, other than catching up on sleep. Tuesday was a big nightmare on several fronts, among them Mother hunting me down at the paper to make sure I remembered that I had to take her to pick up her eyebrow pencil. (!) Lemme tell you, nothing like feeling like you've got a noosetether tied to your neck. I mean, good Christ, I had people at the crib last weekend, and the woman had no food in her house so I had to send Snidgey to run errands for her. It's like, when do I get to have a little peace and quiet, huh!?!? A life? Shit. And so what does she do when I go off because of frustration? Pulls out the ol' "When I'm gone/I wish I were dead" drama, to which I tell her then why not just do it already? I'm sure I've told y'all that before, so don't be all freaked out or anything, but seriously, what are you supposed to say to that? Yeah, I KNOW she's depressed. Yeah, I KNOW she probably needs a change in medication. Yeah, I KNOW she needs to spend more time with her psychiatrist than just a 15-minute med check every three months. I KNOW she should be in a widow support group. I KNOW all that. But I can do only so much before she has to take some of the responsibility, and she won't.
I know she needs me, and it's not that I don't want to help, because I do, but boundaries, people!
Sounds like it might be intervention time. Or you could always have her committed... or is that just in movies?
I feel for you. Tonight, I have to drive 2 hours in California traffic to have dinner with my Mom in Irvine. Apparently, she feels that we never spend time together just the two of us anymore. Um, yeah, we haven't spent time together just the two of us... ever. But now that I'm serious with my gal and spending time with her family and bringing her with me every time I see my folks, I guess the parents are starting to freak out about not getting enough face time and not being able to see me by myself.
Argh.
I swear, I'm moving to another state.
Hey Broad, need a place in San Diego? I'll sell it to you cheap. Only $500K. ;-)
Better off dead, (j/k)
Dix
During the conversation last night, I made the mistake of asking how often I was going to have to meet up with them one-on-one. Ugh.
At one point, my mom started talking about how a parent's greatest joy is seeing their child grown up and independent... to which I countered "but if they're *too* independent, that's apparently a bad thing". To which she started explaining that there is a difference between independence and detachment.
Bear in mind, this is a woman who called her mother in Flordia every day for over a decade. My parents are lucky if I call them twice a week. Because, honestly, it's never a short phone conversation and although it's nice to speak with them, I do have other things I could fill that 45 minutes with.
I'm not the most efficient bastard in the universe (heck, not even in my own house) so there are plenty of piles of neglected paperwork and old bills that need filing and bathrooms that need cleaning and carpets that need vacuuming and cars that need washing or working on and treadmills that need walking on and recorded TV shows from a week ago that need watching and so on and so forth. And don't get me started on the boxes of papers in my closet that I BROUGHT WITH ME FROM SAN DIEGO TO CHICAGO AND BACK TO SAN DIEGO WITHOUT OPENING.
The ADD doesn't help either. Ring! Wha? Huh? Hey, Mom.... (30-60 minutes).... Now what was I doing again?
Where does he get those wonderful toys,
Dix
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