I was supposed to go over to Carrie’s today.
I put my wet clothes, which I would have finished last night had Dad not dropped shitty rags into them, in the dryer. Figured when that got done I would take a shower. My towels were in the wash and I hadn’t washed in days. Stood to reason.
One dryer cycle. Clothes still wet.
I thought at first Dad had set the dryer temp funny. Realized later on that the temp setting and the timer are on the same dial. Never mind. It’s an old fucking dryer is all.
It worked the second time but by then I was a few hours into this. Then the power company was supposed to show up and change all our meters, which required shutting off the power. At the same time, I had to keep an eye on the clock for Dad because his physical therapist was supposed to come by today and Dad wanted me to wake him from his nap at 11am so he could get ready. He woke early, but then the power company showed up. They only had the power off a couple minutes and we thought that was it, and it should have been, but there was some complication so our power wound up off again for probably an hour or so. All this time I am not showering because our water heater is electric and also small and I wasn’t sure how well it would hold heat. It already runs out of hot water on a short shower. So it was wait for that to be done, wait for the water heater to do its thing, wait and wait and wait. During all this, the PT called Dad and said he couldn’t make it due to the weather. PT is from Indiana and ought to know better, but either his employer got nervous or he’s gone native.
Also during this, I was still having weird lower GI symptoms. Definitely better than yesterday, but no fucking picnic. Culminating in blood on the paper and blood in my shit the last time I went to the toilet feeling any significant discomfort. What the actual hell.
It was bright enough I’m not going to panic because bright means lower in the GI tract and it was probably a result of the constipation. I had that weird hybrid constipation/diarrhea thing going on, and sometimes that caused a kind of reflexive straining, and I think my poor butt was just worn out from all the drama. That’s probably where it came from. Whatever opened up has sealed up in the hours since, and I feel a lot better now.
But at the time I thought, That’s all I need. To get over to Carrie’s feeling all fucked up and who even knows whether this nonsense is contagious.
So I let Carrie know I was staying home after all. At this point I’m tentatively going to go over there tomorrow, but I don’t actually know if the weather conditions will allow me to do so. We’ll just have to play it by ear.
Anyway, I may have provisionally figured out what caused my grief. I don’t like it, but it seems the most likely possibility. Yesterday I had some of Dad’s potato salad and also the precooked boiled eggs he got from the store which both were in the potato salad and also were added to my bowl of gumbo. I’m gonna go with “those eggs were off” and not touch either from this batch again. And I hate to say that, because I like boiled eggs and I also like Dad’s potato salad. But he was having difficulty yesterday at the same time I was, obviously, and we both ate the same thing. And he had gumbo again later yesterday with no eggs added and was apparently fine after that. I feel like I’ve probably done the math here.
I would say something to him, but he always thinks I’m stupid and that he’s got all the answers, even when he is blatantly wrong, so even if he believed me about those foods possibly being contaminated, he’d make some stupid comment about some old-fashioned “solution” to the problem that doesn’t actually work. If someone else intervenes and says the same thing I did then sometimes he will listen, but he almost never changes his mind about things on my word alone. I don’t understand why every adult in my life went on and on about how smart I was as a kid and why that meant I should be making straight A’s when they all went on to not give a shit about my opinion on anything or my possible knowledge of the issue, but here we fucking are. So he’ll just have to learn from his own fuckups. I wash my hands of it. If you fucking people want me to use my brain to help you, you’re going to have to actually let me use my fucking brain. If you won’t, that’s on you. I’m done. Too much effort for zero fucking payoff. I can’t even feel good about helping people, because those people act like I was no help, even when I can see I was. Sort your shit out. Over there. Way the fuck away from me. Thanks.
He’s also making noises about jobs again. This is understandable. I also would like for me to have some regular fucking income. At least at this point I’m not under any pressure to be paying rent on my own, so I don’t have to hold out for a certain minimum pay rate as long as my bills are covered. So I will let him grouse and I will nod along and agree with him. But at least it sounds like he will help with car repairs so I can stop dealing with this car-starting fuckery and I can get the inspection done.
I just wish he would stop going “it works better looking for a job if you go in and talk to the employer in person.” That works for the sorts of jobs YOU had, m’man. I have worked in completely different sectors from you, and you haven’t looked for a job in well over a decade, and nearly EVERYONE does things by computer and internet now, and they even use computers and AI to sort through applications and résumés. I literally could go in and ask about jobs most places and they would go, “Did you fill out an application online?” and then I would never hear from them again. I can’t make them change how they do shit just because my father is old-fashioned (his words, not mine). Holy fucking shit.
But I know one place I can go in and be all friendly-like and “d’you still need help? I saw your sign on the door,” and I can stop by there if I go to Carrie’s tomorrow because it is on the way. Dad would shit if that works. Then I will have breathing room for a while.
I have other backup stuff too, I just am not sure if it will work. People don’t give a shit about my creative side any more than they do about my brain. Or anything else about me. It’s like I’m a great big fat blank nothing. It’s been like that all my life. I don’t know how people expect me to survive like this. I suppose they don’t really care one way or the other.
Sigh. I wish my fucking Medicaid cards would get here. I did get the physical approval letter, though I already knew I was accepted, and could be if I needed urgent medical care they would accept that as proof of coverage — at least, if they had enough info to submit my visit to the state, eventually it would get paid. But I would feel a lot better if I had a proper insurance card on me. I’ve hit a milestone this year and I am due for some things and slightly late on some things and way the fuck late on others and I need to just fucking get ON with it already. Hopefully soon.
Two more thinkythoughts:
1. Yes, I still think about and miss my daughter. Every single day. (I also miss my son. But it’s two entirely different kinds of estrangement and his has gone on much longer than hers. Eventually the pain is not so fresh.)
2. Most days I am still perfectly okay with the fact I am single. But I am not always okay with it.
Whatever. I’m human. Like it or not.