At Least I Found the Chapel: part 2

Are you shocked, amazed, awed by the fact I actually posted the sequel post to the post immediately preceeding this one?  Yeah, well, so am I.

Life’s been hectic, lately, with Mom in the hospital, all of her friends and Dad and I all a nervous wreck about all of this.  And now I’m still working the overnight which is going to make me crazy since my dad can’t here.  If she, say, falls, or can’t get out of bed to use the restroom, she’ll be screaming there for a while before he A) hears her and helps, 2) puts his hearing aids in to figure out what she wants, or C) I get home in the morning.  I’m really not okay with that.

I’m also not feeling funny.  Which kind of brings me down a bit.  I started this blog to work on my humor.  I’ve never really been one to be able to put humor into black & white.  I’m that quippy guy who’s full of one liners, not the guy who can write like Erma Bombeck.  But I’ve been trying.  And now all I’ve got is this oh-my-I-think-I’m-going-to-lose-my-mind-before-this-is-all-over thing going on, and that’s not funny.

I mean, if you know me it’s funny, because you get to watch me run around in circles trying to remember what I was doing and then I start taking out the trash before I realize I have to pee and then I finish the trash and can’t remember so I start changing my oil and then realize I really have to go and then I walk inside and can’t remember so I feed the cats and…I think you get the idea.

Really, though, I just wish I had a good, close friend I could pray with.  I have people I can pray with…that’s about it.  This is why no one should ever strive to be a recluse.  When you need people, there aren’t people.  But I have my blog, and I have Facebook and MySpace and Twitter and the 8 pages of apps on my iPhone to keep me going and smiling and able to feign happiness at a moments notice.  So today, I have decided, I’m going to go to McDonald’s and order a HappyMeal with extra happy before work and smile all the way through.

If that doesn’t work, I stopped and got some vodka.  Vodka is the cure for everything.


So the risk management lady (or whatever she’s called…let’s just call her Tammy) called today to say that Mom has to go to rehab for at least three or four days.  And, of course, my mother, being the wonderfully mature person that she is, is refusing to go.  She doesn’t want to be moved to a better facility (she’s at the county hospital right now) nor does she want to be taken out of the surgical department.  If she wasn’t in the hospital, I’d kill her.  It’s no fun doing it while she’s there because they’ll just save her, and that makes for an awkward Thanksgiving.


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