The Tantrum

He's killing me.

I guess The D's bowel-blasting elixer worked yesterday. Because he took a shower last night. I'd asked him to let me know when he wanted to take one. He was unsteady on his feet at the doctor's office the day before. And yesterday morning, when he first got up, I walked into the living room and asked him how he was feeling. He said, "What do you think? I'm sitting in this chair and I'm light-headed." He fell in the shower a couple years ago when he had bronchitis. See why I was worried?

Last night, I went into the kitchen to make stinky cabbage soup (I figure that's good for constipation), so I didn't hear the shower. All of a sudden, he came stomping/stumbling into the kitchen and flung himself into a chair. Shit. I over-reacted and told him I needed to take him to the hospital. He shouted that he wasn't going to that place. I told him that if he fell, he could wind up there anyway. Maybe in an ambulance. He hollered at me some more. So I just turned around and started fixing his dinner tray. He bounded out of the chair and headed to his recliner.

I took him cabbage soup, a yeast roll, broccoli and a chocolate shake. When he finished eating, he said he didn't like that soup. I felt emotionally battered, unappreciated, and like a martyr since I didn't try to administer corporal punishment. I called Deb, told her what had happened and asked her to talk to him. Useless, because he just bitched about me. But at least he didn't stink any more.

I laid on the sofa, had a good cry and fell asleep. The usual. Woke up at 1:30, headed to bed, turned on talk radio and fell asleep. Didn't sleep well from my coughing fits and breathing through my mouth since my head is a big block of snot. I repeatedly woke up with an incredibly dry mouth. Also, on the few occasions when I drool in my sleep, it wakes me up. Ugh. To make matters worse, one time when I was on my back, it seems like my tongue was hanging out. I had a flashback of my poor mother lying on her death bed with her mouth open and her tounge hanging out.

When I woke up for good this morning, I thought it was Friday and I jumped out of bed because I'd slept late. Then I realized it was Saturday. A small relief. I have a hard time on the weekends these days. I guess I'm too busy during the week to think about things, and when it slows down, lots of emotions surface. And I feel more isolated than usual because my phone calls and emails dry up. My friends tend to have lives on the weekend. So I think about going shopping or hanging out at BFF Angela's, but I don't because I have so many pressing things to do. Kiddo's FAFSA application is due Monday. In order to do that, I need to have my 2010 tax return done and do a balance sheet. Ugh. Still haven't figured out VA benefit application. Or stopped Mother's pension. Filed for her life insurance. Sent threatening letter to fucking funeral home to ask for a refund since they screwed the pooch in about 15 ways with my mother's funeral and burial.

All of these things could mean significant dollars. What is wrong with me? I just can't seem to make myself do them.

So here I sit, blogging away with HGTV going in the background. Stupid, I know.

The D woke up late. I was a little afraid to go check to see if he was breathing. Right after Mother died, Deb told me she thought The D would die in his sleep. I'm embarrassed to say how many times I went into his room to see if he was still breathing. Since he sleeps on his tummy and doesn't snore at all, it's hard to tell. God, I'm so neurotic.

I usually fix Daddy french toast on Saturday mornings, and I thought about that, but decided against it. I'm going to steer clear of him this morning. Thankfully, I have my den and he has his living room.

Oh, even with my congested sinuses, I can still smell the skunk chair. Hopefully, my day won't be stinky, too...