I really didn't intend to talk about stocks in yesterday's post. That was supposed to be a clever intro to what was really on my mind. Which was letting go of loved ones. Specifically, my mother. My friend L buried her mother yesterday. I was oddly devoid of emotion during most of the service. And then it hit me. My mother and Mrs. P were very different. But very much alike in some ways.
They were both fiercely independent. I sometimes wonder how it would've worked if Mother had come home from the hospital to live with me. As much as I loved her, we could butt heads and when we did, it wasn't pretty. I guess that's part of why I know she loved me unconditionally. There was nothing I could've done that she wouldn't forgive. Immediately. And wordlessly. Without dishing out guilt.
I'm blessed to have inherited her forgiving spirit. For the most part, I can forgive anything. Except one. Betrayal. Sometimes I wonder what Mother would say if she saw the way the Emotional Vampire operated. Systematically turning our extended family against my younger sister and me. Those relationships can never be mended completely. With EV, the only healing to be done is for me to let my anger completely transform into apathy. I expect the only time I will ever see her again is at The D's funeral, if he doesn't outlive me.
When I was so sick the other night and I thought my head was going to explode, I pictured her swooping in to my funeral. The grieving sister. How she would relish the role. I told Deb that under no circumstances should EV be admitted. She'd have to hire a bouncer. But since I'm giving my body to science so it will be cremated gratis, there'll be no funeral. I want my loved ones to take the $13 fucking grand they'd spend on a funeral and go on a great trip and scatter my ashes over the ocean.
I need to work on my will. Not that there's lots. Especially if I keep doing a number on my IRAs. But I do have a nice life insurance policy. Everything would go to ex-husband as it stands now, but since he's such an ubermensch, I'm not worried. It'll all go to Kiddo eventually. Really, what I should work on is a trust. I could load it up with conditions. Make him jump through hoops. Believe me, if anything motivates the kid, money does. He was remarkably kinder when I gave him a chunka change to use for his frat dues this summer. And I might've mentioned needing to work on my will. Wait, I remember. I said, "Straighten up Kiddo, or everything goes to the cat. With the residual to the Humane Society." A remainder trust, is what it's called. Leona Helmsley did that for her dog. She didn't have children. I think her step-children challenged the will. And lost. It was airtight I'm sure.
Speaking of motivation and money. If FF married me, he'd get a cut. Besides, Kiddo's set on becoming a Wall Street magnate, so he won't need it all. I've instructed Mr. Man to start working on the pre-nup. I have a feeling it'll be complicated. Or not. Since I don't really care about money beyond meeting my financial obligations and doing some occasional thrift store shopping, I'd be happy with health insurance. And I'm sure he'll outlive me. Like Owen Meany, I'm quite sure I'll have an untimely death. I don't know the exact day or circumstances, but I'm pretty sure of it. Or maybe I just hope so, because I can't bear the thought of outliving anyone else I love.
Well, FF has until May 31, 2013 to make up his mind. That's when my COBRA runs out. I think I've mentioned that a time or two already. I'm hoping he'll get the hint. But realistically, I can't just fart around until the deadline. I'll have to work on a backup plan. So in May 2012, I'll launch a full-scale offensive if his bachelorhood remains confirmed. I'll give him fair warning. Right of first refusal, depending on the qualifications of Mr. Right Enough. Of course, a Christmas engagement would be nice. And yes, that's a hint. A blatant one. I really do have it bad for him. But maybe I shouldn't show him my hand. He does read this blog faithfully. And then there's the specter of being publicly dumped. If that happens, though, I'll just quit blogging about him. Or not. After all, FF stands for Fantasy Fiance. Not Future. Hopefully not Former. Fantasy. So for all anyone knows, he's already flown the coop. I really couldn't even assign a percentage to the likelyhood of his jumping the broom with me. He's hard to read. A tough nut to crack. This girl loves a challenge, though.
Ok, enough babbling. The market opens soon and the futures were down, last I checked. I need to make some decisions. I think I'll wait until after amateur hour, though. I'll get ready and take The D to the urologist's office to pee in a cup. He's chomping at the bits. I'd ask Sarita to take him, but I'm hoping to see my new best friend, the sweet funny nurse who does all The D's procedures.
Better run. Over and out...
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