So today, after getting home, I saw a huge tub of my dirty clothes, washed, dried and folded. It turns out (at least according to Grandmother, so this could be totally wrong) that My Fucking Father at the very least dried and maybe brought down and had the clothes washed; she only folded them. If so, it is The Last Time she takes care of my clothes. Oftentimes they're too starchy or they're folded wrong, and sometimes she even gives me My Fucking Father's clothes. But it's good enough. And now, sadly, it is The Last Time.
Mondays means chicken, cause an eight-piece box of chicken at the local grocery store is five bucks, $1.50 off. Tonight was The Last Time I had dinner with Grandmother.
We kind of had a thing -- well, I kind of noticed that she liked it, so I tried to watch it out in the dining room with her -- where we watch Dancing With The Stars. It's the only TV she cares to watch now. Unfortunately, two hours is too much for her. Tonight, with Gavin DeGraw and this William Levy guy left, she went back to her room. And that was The Last Time I saw Dancing With The Stars with Grandmother.
She repeated went to me for stuff. It's annoying, but hey, since she's being thrown out tomorrow, I don't mind her troubling me because it's going to be over. You know, seeing the end of an obnoxious practice really does make you miss it. And it wasn't like Grandmother was repeating herself; she wanted me to drink a cup of milk she wanted but didn't realize was 2%, then she gave me ten bucks to buy orange juice tomorrow (she doesn't know what's happening tomorrow, does she?), then she wanted my help opening a bottle of Ambien. It's The Last Time she will bother me at my bedroom.
I made sure Grandmother took her nightly pills. I was never as vigilant about making sure she took them. Nonetheless, tonight was The Last Time I saw her take her pills.
When I retire for the night, I should open her bedroom and make sure she's still breathing. That will be The Last Time I do that.
No comments:
Post a Comment