I should have taken photos at the dentist's office. Me. My mouth. Him with both hands and maybe the assistant's, too, working like a couple of deckhands getting ready for a storm. I can barely move my jaw this morning.
I go back in a week to have my gold tooth put on. I'm going to ask him to rub one out for me, first. I mean. . . I'm paying that kind of money.
The only fun part was when the cute little (petite) assistant turned, looked at me and maybe smiled beneath her mask, "You look like a surfer."
Fun. But I only talk with my mother now, and she is deaf, so I've lost my gift of gab. I struggled but found nothing better to say than, "I'm just an old guy with long blond hair."
What?! That was bad. What has happened to me? It wasn't just one thing, but I'd say in the main, my "friends" have been more than willing to give me a hand down the ladder so they can stand on my fingers. It's been a long time since anyone was nice.
Still, she looked at me and said, "Well. . . it's working."
I am not sure what she meant. I'm too paranoid to take it as a compliment. The best I get now is the old double entendre.
Once in awhile, a stranger smiles. Still, one never knows.
The boys went out for Happy Hour last night. I, of course, was cooking for mother.
"Isn't she tired of frozen dinners yet," one of the nitwits wrote.
Anything but. She has never eaten so well in her life. Healthy, good, nutritious. It has been over seven weeks now, and she has gotten worse about doing things rather than better. She just wants to sit on a vibrating heating pad ten hours a day and then shuffle from room to room moaning. Being old is painful. But she makes messes readily, then leaves them for me to clean up. Dishes, towels, tissues.
Last night my cousin called from the coast. My mother and she were talking about the Ohio cousin coming down.
"She says she is leaving this weekend."
"Well, my son will be happy to get a break. He's been a real help."
"Is she coming to your house?" my cousin asked in surprise. And then I knew. My cousin may be coming for a couple of days, but she isn't planning on staying with my crippled mother if it means taking care of her. I'm fucked.
Something is going to need to happen. My mother has given up taking care of herself. I think she has convinced herself that I am happy doing this. What's the difference, she imagines. I'm just living in a different place, that is all. I'm sure she feels she is doing me a favor.
I've had a lot of people contact me lately wondering if I want to sell my home. I told my mother.
"You should sell it," she said.
"And then what?"
"You could move in with me."
She was dead serious.
I think one night I'll just take the pills and let her deal with the rest of it.
Today I meet the roofing contractor. I missed a call from Mr. Tree yesterday. I guess he wants his money. The car door opens part way now when I am driving on a rough road or am making a right hand turn. Should I spend the money getting it fixed, or should I get a new car?
Does any of it matter? The grocery store had no avocados yesterday. "None came in on the delivery truck," I was informed. Tariffs? The egg shelf was bare. What next? No vaccines? People dying at home and in the streets?
Beats me. But people are getting meaner every day, I think. Even my friends feel free to criticize.
That is why there is no photo for today's post. Will that bring more readers or will I get fewer viewers? I'm sure to depress my one sure reader, Google Admin. They so look forward to checking me out.
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