ON a scale from 1-10 with 1 being sweet little ball of sunshine, and 10 being SATAN. Thursday night my grumpiness was at 8.5, Satan's minion.
What was on my mind?
I was in countdown mode by 9PM. I would have to be up at 3:45 AM the next morning in order to leave for work by 4:30 AM. So that meant, in the mental Olympics taking place in my brain mathematically calculating the time that I would need to:
get up, sneak into mom's room, get her meds container, fill it up, sneak back into her room, put it back, feed the dog and cat, keep dog from barking, pack my bag, hide the caretaker's money (to keep mom thinking caretaker is a friend of mine), get in the bathtub, dry, dress, take my supplements, and put on my "I'm awake face and attitude" so that I am ready for the "and they're off" pace that will smack me upside the head once I leave the apartment.
Thursday night my mom was just primping and patting her new little hairdo. She did look cute, and she was so happy. Little did she know that I had shipped her off that morning $30 short of what she needed to get her hairdo refreshed. When her caretaker texted me the price for the hairdo, $130, the financial overload of this thing I'm doing had me feeling stupid and incapable of doing any of what I'm doing for my mom. I packed $100 for the day thinking it would be $40 for hair, and the rest for lunch or dinner, and maybe something else mom might want to get. $100 was a lot to ship mom off with, but the hair might cost as much as $45 and mom might want to tip. So I was playing it safe, I thought. I forgot that her caretaker had her hair braided the last time she took her to get her hair done back in February.
How the hell did you FORGET, Bugaboo?
Even though her hair had been braided for nearly two months now, I guess in my mind my mom still sported her alien/conehead look:
She loved that old look.
But it really was kind of conehead-ish.
The caretaker hated it and one day asked if she could get my mom's hair redone. I agreed. She got it braided, and I liked the braids. But sometimes, I guess, I still see how it has always been...
So when I snapped the picture of her Thursday night, my grumpy evening, my grumpy evening among many grumpy evenings, it wasn't until I looked at the tiny series of shots I snapped that I saw her again for the first time in a while.
While I see her cute little face, I see too how prissy she is by the way her hands are poised around her face. I see too how she loves to look pretty. Pretty is important to her...it always has been now that I think about it. I see too how growing older is scary when what you are used to is taken away from you. I also see a little child who is exceptionally vulnerable. I see how she is so pleased with what she sees (for the first time in a long time since she's been with me these past months she is pleased). I see how her left eye doesn't get to see what it is that finally pleases her. I see how her right eye is satisfied. I see the transformation in her from December to now. I see that fragile beauty who I allowed to stay home alone in a house alone in a city far away from me where she sat exposed and available for vultures and predators to have their way with her devouring her flesh, poisoning her spirit, sacrificing her very life, replacing memories of me and my cousin with deceitful images of themselves as me and Shirley, my cousin.
I was so grumpy Thursday night. I was grumpy and I was feeling like an ass for being so damn grumpy.
When I think about what it is I hate...
Well, it's 6:48 AM and I have to get started if I want to have "my time."
I'm just writing to keep from losing it.