No One Tells Me Anything

I woke up on my own accord Friday morning anticipating the sprinkler guy to come.  Frankly, I couldn't begin my day off from work until he came over to winterize the system.  I was getting antsy, but I took the time in the morning to water the plants and work on stuff on my computer.  Then, as it got to the late morning, I figured I could give the tree that magically appeared in the front yard that morning some more water beyond what is encased in that plastic bag around the 8' tree.

It was a bit past 11:30, when I put the sprinkler system through its third cycle of watering that tree, that I suddenly heard the doorbell ring followed immediately by banging on the door.  It was the sprinkler guy.  Not of fan of how he announced he was here, but considering he was courteous yet fast, and that he recommended I trade in the old backflow plug for a new one made of brass, I can't complain.  I was on my way half past noon.

The only lingering issue I have is something I have asked the sprinkler company every year I call in and pay for the winterization.  I always ask that the driver call or text me ahead of time.  That way I, at the very least, will be awake for when he comes.  That courtesy isn't always given, and this dude didn't do it either, or else I wouldn't have had the sprinkler system on when he got here.

A bit later in the day I realized that fit a pattern.  The sprinkler guy didn't tell me he was coming before he did, like I asked.  The previous day, the inspector climbed on top of the house even though I told the roofer I was going to come home to open the side door for him.  And of course there's Mother, who told me that the inspector was coming less than one day before.  No one tells me anything, or at least won't tell me anything till the last minute, well past any time I could prepare for it.  And I fucking hate that.  I mean, what the hell is wrong with letting me prepare, goddammit?  (sigh)

Changing My Whole Day So Some Dude Could Climb On My House

OK, so this blog post is so sprawling I might not be able to gather all my thoughts, so this could go several places.  I just hope to remember what happened when. ...

On Wednesday, after I helped Mother with getting insurance information, she told me that she had arranged for an inspector to look at the roof, siding and gutters ... the next day.  She asked me to unlock the side door (but put the recycling bin behind it -- you know, to keep it "shut") so he and the second roofer we spoke to could inspect everything.  Mother knew I was working then, but thought nothing of having some fucking stranger climb on top of and meander behind our property without me or her or Father being there to see him.  And she said all this shit would happen the next afternoon.

This pissed me off to no end.  But there are two dimensions to my pissed-off-ness.  There is, of course, the idea that I, or she, would let anyone look at our house, our home, our sacred castle, without us there.  What I have just realized, however, that I am a bit more upset that, once again, she has sprung one of her hare-brained ideas on me without telling me, without giving me any time to process it, and without having my say as to whether it's a good idea or not -- again.  She once again just went through on her fucking bullshit flights of fancy, and she just goddamn assumed I'd be OK with it.  I don't care that she felt like I didn't have to do anything more than unlock a door.  If someone sees that door open, I have to deal with that fucker breaking into the house, not her.  But she didn't give a flying shit.

Having to catch this hot potato of news, I (once again) wasn't as clever on my feet as I should have been.  I told her that this was a bad idea, having some guy crawl around the home without me there, and once again, fuckin' A, My Fucking Mother retreated back into defensive mode.  "What do you want to do then?" she asked, without realizing for one goddamn second that this was all my parents' idea.  "I am the one who has to come up with ideas!"  Ideas for what?  Who said that the roof and siding and gutters needed repairing??  She acts like something hard and unavoidable has fallen into her lap when she's the one telling me what the fuck's going on ... and telling me poorly, by the way.

---

Going to bed (well, after going to this volunteer event and then getting an HJ by ******a -- man, did I need that!), I thought I had no choice but to do what she says.  I swore that I had told Mother that I had Friday off, and that was the perfect time for them to come over.  I didn't think when she dropped this fuckin' bomb on me to remind her in case she forgot -- thank Buddha for ******a; she thought saying that to her would be a way to draw boundaries that obviously aren't there right now -- but I figured it was too late.  But I live in this house, and right now, I am the only person who lives in this house.  It does not sit right with me to unlock a door that is always secured when I leave so some stranger can come look, even if everyone else says it's OK, because it's not OK with me.  It doesn't matter that I live in a good neighborhood; I should not and will not leave my house unlocked.

So I woke up and decided that I would ask/tell my boss I have to take an extended lunch break to go home and oversee whatever it is this inspector wants to look at.  I didn't want to do that to my boss, but My Fucking Mother left me with no goddamn choice.  And even though I'm sure My Fucking Mother told the roofer that the side door was not going to be locked, I texted her in the morning that it would be locked and that I would come home to unlock it.  Once again, I have to make room for My Fucking Mother's whims and demands, but now I had some control in how it was going to happen.

---

Or so I thought.  I went home earlier than planned in case the inspector got there early.  And by God, he was there earlier than me.  I went home to see some dude on top of the house with a ladder.  I took umbrage at that, so I parked my car, looked up at him and said, "Who are you?"  He was the inspector, of course, and he was there to look at the roof.  And I think I said some other things that conveyed how upset I was that he was on my house when I wasn't there.

I saw the roofer talking on the phone next to her car parked a ways from in front of my house.  She was talking a mile a minute about our homeowner's policy, but I didn't care about that.  I cared about why in the hell this guy was lording over my house when I told her that I was coming over to oversee everything.  She told me that she just got there and that the inspector was parked.  She said that the inspector thought that he could start his inspection as soon as she (the roofer) got there because he was told that the only person supervising the property would be her.  So, once she got on site, he thought he was good to go, locked side door be damned.  Maybe she should have told him to wait until I got there, but My Fucking Mother apparently got into the middle of this arrangement too and ... ah, fuck it, I don't know what else was said.  There was no need for me to continue to be angry at some guy who didn't seem to deserve it.  He even said that he thought he got the go-ahead as soon as the roofer drove up.  Also, he says that he climbs on roofs all the time without the homeowner or anyone living the house there.  Is that true?  That sounds reckless to me.  Whatever; I opened the side door once I got there, and I saw him, well, inspect and leave.

---

So he's supposed to whip up a report that he's going to give to the insurance company since we (well, Mother) made a claim.  The insurance company will give it to us and, if we want to go ahead with repairs, we can send that report to the roofer.  However, the roofer is now pooh-poohing our chances of justifying any repairs or replacement.  She understands our policy better than we do, and it looks like our deductible is too high and that we don't have enough of the components (?) that would induce the insurance company to pay for most of any repairs.  My Fucking Mother asked me later Thursday evening what to do.  Once again, she's throwing on my lap some lame-brained fantasy she cooked up in her own goddamn head.  I don't know.  Maybe as the person who technically owns the home, maybe I should know.  But right now, I'm still too pissed at my narcissist mommy to set my anger aside and make the most out of her scheme.

But back to my original point.  No harm, no foul on leaving work for more than half an hour; there was such light work that, even if I had a normal half-hour break, there wouldn't have been enough work for me to stay eight hours.  Still, all of this would have gone much smoother if the inspector came Friday.  I was home and the person winterizing the sprinkler system would've been there, too.  Kill two birds with one stone, and I wouldn't have had to impose upon my boss to see through some bullshit idea by My Fucking Mother.  God, she sucks.

Another Conflict Preventing Me From Seeing My ATF

My parents now seems hellbent on getting the roof fixed.  Don't know why, but I think tomorrow/Monday, after work, a second person is going to inspect it, and maybe the siding, too.  Look, I don't know the first thing about home insurance, so I'm just going to defer to Father and this roofer and the insurance company (maybe, this is an insurance company after all).  It's yet another thing I've been thrust into "knowing" because Father wants it done.

What I know, and care, about is that it might be cock-blocking me from ******a coming over.  See, this all started late last week, when Mother asked me to call her while I was at work.  Once I got home, I called her, and she told me this second roofer wants to see the roof Saturday morning.  That would've worked until, like, Wednesday, when I picked up a gig at the Gophers football Game.  (Glad I took it, if only to have a great vantage point of the fans storming the field after they beat Michigan at home for the first time since '77.)  Mother gave me the roofer's number to text an alternate day and time.  We agreed on Monday evening, which is a little late considering the time of night the Sun sets nowadays.  But Mother wants this done ASAP, even though I have Friday free.

Once we agreed to Monday, ******a texted me.  She has been busy, plus she is dealing with a bad back that appears to be preventing her from giving me a massage, but out of the blue, she asked me what I was doing ... Monday.  Shit.  I told her what's happening, so right now, I'm going to text her once she's done.  She wasn't totally committing, either, because she doesn't want to come over too late.

There are so many variables to deal with this -- when within the two-hour time period she gave me she can get here, how long she's going to be here, if I can get home earlier than that, etc.  The big wrinkle, in my estimation, is that this roofer is friends with my sister's best friend.  This roofer actually re-did my sister's best friend's roof last year.  In fact, I want to say that my sister's best friend gave Mother the roofer's information.  Well, I think I said this here on WAF before, but my sister's best friend lives down the street from me.  And by the way, the roofer apparently is friends with my sister's best friend.  Now, imagine that once she gets done inspecting the roof, she'll just mosey on down and talk to my sister's best friend for a while.  If they're there talking long enough, maybe they'll notice that someone's dropped by my house for a visit.  And then the roofer (and maybe my sister's best friend -- who knows, maybe she and Mother are besties now) will tell Mother, and then she'll ask, "Who visited you?!?!?!"  Fuck that shit.

So I'm trying to see if the roofer might be able to reschedule.  Mother won't like that she might not come tomorrow/Monday, but I need to get all my muscles worked over (including the one that matters the most, hint-hint), and I want that HE in peace.  Maybe it'll work.  Or, maybe this will be the second time ******a has offered to touch me, only for me to decline because I have plans.  First it was the WNBA Draft (Olivia Miles doesn't look so good now that she was benched for all of the Second Half of Game 2, so me throwing my glasses on the table when she was announced as the pick now seems prescient), and now it's this roof inspection I'm told needs to be done.  Bad timing is so much of my life.

The Mailing Tabs Saga Is Over (With A Twist)!!!

Well, at least Federal Express did its job.  Exceeded it, actually; while at work yesterday/Tuesday, Mother texted me saying she got the second tab from me.  Thank goodness.  Now maybe she can't get off my back.

But here's the thing.  She got the FedEx package at 11:06 a.m. their time -- a hell of a lot sooner than the 5 p.m. deadline I was given when I sent the second tab Monday evening, so kudos to them.  But at 11:57 a.m. their time, the first tab I sent through the United States Postal Service arrived.  It was almost four goddamn days late, but it arrived.  So I wanted to send one tab, for a whole weekend and then some Mother fucking freaked out because she had zero tabs, and now she has two/both.  Fuck us.

In the morning I will make one final journey out to the downtown post office, this time to get the refund I deserve.  They guaranteed the first tab would get there Friday evening, and it didn't, and the guy told me Monday morning I'm entitled to a refund, so that's what I'm going to do.  Damn, if this Republican government wants to break the government in order for the people to believe the government can't do anything so that services get privatized so that Republicans can get even more money ... well, they're doing too fucking good of a goddamn job.

When Will This Mailing Tabs Saga End??

So before work yesterday/Monday morning I go back downtown to the post office, which was where I mailed my parents' tabs.  It was supposed to be in their hands Friday evening, but according to the website, the last known location was St. Paul Thursday evening.  I was hoping that the postal worker could bring up more information beyond what I found punching in the tracking number onto a website, but it doesn't look like he did/could.

It was the right thing to do, going to the post office, but I would be lying if I wasn't badgered into doing it by Mother.  When she recommended going in the morning, she wanted me to call her.  It was around 5:30 a.m. her time, but, well, my parents are fucking crazy like that, waking up in the morning.  She was her usual panicky, overbearing self when I broke the news that there was no new news.  So she wanted to go to Plan B.  We get two tabs when we renew, but in Nevada you need only one license plate, so you need only tab.  Mother told me to send her only one tab for situations just like this, where the other gets lost in the mail.  That happened, so now she wanted me to send the other one -- but to Federal Express, not USPS.  Logical.

She wanted me to do this as soon as possible.  I thought to hell with that, and I told her I would go as soon as my workday was done, and no sooner.  I even turned off my phone from time to time at work because I didn't want her bothering me.  To be fair, she didn't call, and it just so happened that I got out of work at a decent time, so I went home to grab the tab, then go to FedEx.  (This is where I confess that I lied to Mother; when she asked me if I brought the tab I have to the Post Office, like she said she told me to do [and she did], I said yes when I knew I left it at home.  So glad I had time to go home, then go to Federal Express.)  Unfortunately, the cutoff time for packages to be sent overnight was five minutes after I got there.  However, I was directed to another FedEx place south of this location which has a later cutoff.  I went home, changed vehicles (I drove the minivan to the first Federal Express), kept my tab on me, and drove.

I made the mistake of calling Mother, which she wanted me to do when I was calling her from the first FedEx), when I was at this second FedEx.  She was telling me to do things with the tab that were obvious.  She was talking my ear off because she's anxious/upset she hasn't gotten the first tab I sent her.  So when I got to the front of the line, I hung up on her.

So for about $40 Federal Express says they will send it overnight, and it'll be in my parents' hands by 5 p.m. this/Tuesday evening.  Hope so.  Anyway, this fuck-up once again brings out the bitchiest in My Fucking Mother, which I abhor.  Saying that, none of this would have happened if the USPS just overnighted my package to my parents like they promised they would, and like I paid for.

I've lodged complaints.  Someone apparently from a post office in Las Vegas left me a message in response.  I'll hopefully hear from this person tomorrow, because I want this goddamn saga to end now.

This Fucking Overnight Mail

The drama surrounding my parents' tab is not done yet, goddammit.  It hasn't been delivered yet.  I sent it Thursday morning, the guy said it'll be delivered by Friday evening, and it's now Sunday afternoon, and it hasn't been delivered yet.  Checking the USPS website, the last known sighting of this package was that it was sent to St. Paul Thursday evening.  And that's it.

I spent 40 fucking dollars to get this delivered in 1 1/2 days.  It's probably this fucker Louis DeJoy's doing, and this installed Republican government won't do a goddamn thing about it.

Mother was her usual panicking, bitchy self over this.  Last night she called me and demanded the tracking number so she can go to the website, put in the tracking number, and see the same fucking thing I see.  She then said I should've told her I was going to overnight this because then she would tell me how to send it through Federal Express.  Yeah, sure she would do that.  That bitch is only saying that because the fucking Post Office hasn't done its job.

I don't want to talk more about this, this is so fuckin' infurating.

Mother Sounded Crazy, Was Right

I continue to love Mother, but when I have to talk to her on the phone for more than five minutes, she gives me a goddamn headache.

Such was the case Wednesday night.  She asked me I didn't ask the DMV about getting her tabs.  I told her if I saw a bill from the DMV about tabs, I would've told her.  Here's the thing: My parents' tabs expired in June.  And neither of my parental units noticed until fucking Wednesday.  Can you believe it?  And My Fucking Mother has the balls to blame me.  This is why I don't have kids.

OK, so she asks me to e-mail the DMV.  She then says some bullshit about being able to buy tabs at yellow kiosk in this chain of grocery store.  I hear her squawk about this and I think she's starting to have dementia.  I mean, I have seen kiosks at this grocery store make keys (which I guess is kind of weird in and of itself), but creating tabs that you can stick on your license plate?  Get outta here with that bullshit, Mom, I'm going to see a play (narrator: Unforgivable Wetness did not go see a play because he thought it started at 7:30 when it actually began at 7, so he decided to have dinner at the acclaimed restaurant in The Four Seasons instead).

I went to the grocery store after having that leisurely dinner.  (Father calling me twice while I was there spurred me on, unfortunately.)  And I'll be goddamned ... there it is, a kiosk that prints out tabs.  I brought the car's information with me, and after five minutes and the tap of my credit card, out came tabs that we should have gotten almost four months ago.  No, Mother wasn't crazy.  She was right, and I told her that.  And then, luckily, I haven't had to talk to her since.  Let's keep that going; my head hurts less right now.

Getting Up Early Is Good?

This take is shaped by how I didn't and don't have to report super early to my jobs this weekend, so even when I was waking up "late," I probably had enough sleep where I could roll out of my bed and immediately head out.  That's what I have done and that's what I like doing.  But lately I've been going to sleep earlier in the night.  Did that this and yesterday morning, which meant and means that I didn't/don't have to dash out of the house.

You know what?  I don't mind it.  I had things I had to do, though they're not pressing, and I had time to do it both mornings.  It was nice to shower and shave and water the plants and even do this thing for Mother when she texted this morning and asked me to call her so she can explain this thing she wanted me to do for her.  And I have the time to do them, unrushed.  This is a new feeling for me.  And it feels good.

Now, I always want to get to work first thing because I don't have as much energy as I will once I fully wake up.  I am worried that being up three hours before work will mean I will get tired once I get to work today.  But for now my stress is low, I know I shouldn't be late for work, and I will hope I have a good day.  My mind is relatively clear and relaxed.  This may go sideways on me, and I might sing a different tune tonight.  But right now, I'm good, and it might be because I got up when and how I got up.

Maybe They're ... Not Coming Home?

I blog posted about not wanting to directly talk with my parents because I don't want to hear from them that they're coming home, but it's been about a week since I last spoke with them, and frankly, that is kind of weird.  I'm a chickenshit, but even this period of incommunicado was getting ridiculous.

Still, I took a baby step after my long day at work last/Thursday night.  No mail came that I needed to alert Mother about, but I looked at an e-mail on her e-mail account that she paid for the trash bill at an amount lower than what was stated on the bill I got and told her.  I was concerned that there was a reason she didn't pay the amount I thought she needed to pay, but as I've done the past week or so, I only texted her.  I thought she would call.  Well, Father called back on his cellphone, and he started off by giving me the number of a roofer who was willing to come by the house and inspect and give an estimate for replacing the roof.  He really wants me to call him, then take a day off to let his guy go all over the top of our house.  Well, if you're coming home, why can't Father do that?

Father then got Mother on his phone.  She got my text; she put in that amount on purpose after haggling with the trash service.  Nothing else she said rocked my world for the worse.  In fact, she said that they might be planning a trip.  After coming back here?  Before?  Instead??  I got the feeling, then and there, that my parents might not be coming back home after all, even though Mother said as early as August that they would.  I didn't press her on this issue because I don't want to jinx anything.  But if they're going to be away from home for upwards of a calendar year ... well, that just means the ultimate state of freedom for me, isn't it?

Ironically, though, this makes me believe that I should visit them.  They have things here they might need if they are taking a long trip out of the country.  Besides, and don't tell them this, I kind of miss them.  And I don't my hanging out with them so long as they're away from all my stuff that I've strewn around the house.  I should start making plans to fly to see them, risk of getting kidnapped by the government be damned. ...

No, I Don't Want To Know When

It's been over a week since I spoke to my parents.  And when I say that, I mean literally speak to them.  Since then I have been in contact with them, through text.  I usually do that, and only do that, when there is a letter regarding an issue with one of their properties for which Mother needs some idea of what's going on, and telling her just won't cut it.

But over the past week bills have been sent.  Usually I just get on the phone and tell Mother that, hey, this bill came in and it's for such-and-such an amount.  I also tell her about checks that have come in, but when the latest one came over a week ago ... well, I just texted her that it's here.  And she was fine with it.  Then, a couple bills came and I figured this is something Mother needs to know about, so I texted her to call me, but I didn't hear from her the rest of the evening.  OK, this is unusual.  And I didn't want to wait to call after work the next day, so I texted her the nature and amount of these two bills at work the next day, and she said she would take care of it.  Not going to lie, I am in a texting mood now, so the bills that have come in since I have only told her through text.

Yes, it's easier.  But I have to admit that the real reason I am now texting her is that I don't want to hear her tell me that they're coming home.  They should be coming home by now.  And don't get me wrong.  When I say "should," I don't mean that it's the right thing to do, or it's preferable.  I mean that they've been gone over half a year, and they say they would be coming back, so logic would dictate they would mean what they say and be back.  Now, they usually summer here in Minnesota, and they didn't do that.  Mother later said they'd return in August, and obviously that's not the case.  They have said they want to come back to look at the mail that's accumulated, or to start working on a new roof, or figuring out what to do with the minivan, or to see that the trash is now being picked up.  But they're not here -- at least not yet.

Still, I have had this creeping fear that, as time marches forward, the inevitable end of me having the whole house to myself has to come.  Surely, they would be making a decision now that it's Labor Day ... even though, and I may be pointing this out to myself in order to give myself hope, generally this is the time of the year my parents leave Minnesota.  And hey, maybe they realized they just want to stay out there, and that there is no reason to come back since everything is hunky dory, and it is hunky dory here right now.  But I feel like I'm tied to a conveyor belt with my legs spread open with a laser beam ready to zap my genitals, like that scene in Goldfinger.  If/When they tell me, I have so much shit I need to do -- pack up all my things (and I am visually overwhelmed with all the packing I'll have to do ... my goodness it's a lot), take them to storage, and clean, clean, clean.  I don't have the time to do that, I don't have the energy to do that, and I frankly don't have the will to do that.  So I don't talk to Mother nowadays because being incommunicado with her lets me leave all my stuff out where I want.  And that is a ... don't want to say a fiction, but a situation I've created in order to make me feel good about myself.  As long as she doesn't tell me they're returning, I get to live how I feel.  So I don't talk to her because that way, she can't tell me anything.

You know, this is something I would talk to my psychiatrist about.  God, I could use someone to talk to about my anxiety right now.

Weird.  Needed to talk to my folks about some bills, but Mother, who is really attentive in calling back, didn't.  I texted her Wednesday night, but it wasn't until the day yesterday/Thursday that she replied, and she said the bills, for which we usually talk about, she will handle.

Honestly, I have tried avoiding talking to them, only because I fear the date they come home.  Not ready for that.  Still, I need to be sure they're alright, and not being in contact with them for more than a day after I said I need to speak to them sets me a bit on edge.  The text is fine, but it's something to monitor.

So I'm eating spaghetti (seconds, but I think I'm in a phase where I don't like leftovers).  The only things I've accomplished are making spaghetti, fixing the sprinkler head (maybe I'll blog post about that), and doing this blog post.

I'm eating at a dinner table filled with my stuff -- letters, receipts, etc.  There's a bunch of my shit in the basement.  I have clothes I've organized into piles but haven't put away.  And even though they haven't given me a date (yet), Mother said they'd return in August, and it's August.

Maybe, just maybe, I should do something about my stuff.  Or, maybe I won't.

Back to eating my spaghetti, and to scrolling.  Hey, the Lynx won!

Is Mother Dying? Is She Lying About It?

The damndest thing, I got two voicemails yesterday/Monday that were left for Mother.  It's from the same phone number -- a cancer center, where they were talking about schedule surgery.  Surgery??  Cancer?!?!

OK, I try to avoid talking to Mother as often as I can; hell, there's an insurance bill that came yesterday/Monday that I haven't told her about yet.  I am keeping that a secret because I was hoping that me just texting her that I received these two VMs would be enough for her to take it from there.  But no, she calls me.  She asks me to text her the voicemails, which I had no idea you could do, but I did.  She said she would listen to the VMs and then get back to me.

And she did get call me back ... and supposedly after listening to the voicemails, Mother said not to worry about it, they dialed the wrong phone number.  On the one hand, phew!  On the other hand, I call shenanigans.  How much time do you need to determine a VM -- left for me, by the way, and not her -- that is scheduling surgery is BS?  Wouldn't having surgery be something foremost in your head, so that if you get information that the place you're having said surgery is looking for you, you would immediately go, "Oh!  What's their number??  I need to get in touch with them ... and oh, by the way, I have cancer!"

Well, Mother didn't do that.  So ... is she lying?  Does she really have ... cancer?

This Stripper Really Loves Me

So I made it to a stripper party last/Friday night.  I wish I could say I was more relaxed, but the stripper I was with really took things in stride.  She's a really cool chick.  I hope to get with her again soon.

I was planning on going home because I was, well, spent.  But *****y, even though she wasn't technically hosting (*****a was because it was her birthday), she wouldn't let me leave until I stayed there for a while longer.  *****a had made me a strong frozen margarita a few hours before, and *****y didn't want me to just drive off.  Now, this is not the first time *****y has asked me not to leave so soon after a house party.  Also, and make of this what you wish, I felt fine driving home.  (She has continually said to other strippers working parties I've been to that I don't drink much.  I don't know when I should tell her that, uh, isn't quite the case ... which makes me think I should cut down on the drinking, but that should is a blog post for another time.)  But like the first time she asked, I was struck by this stripper, the ethos of whom I normally associate with being a free spirit, and with acting with wild abandon, being so concerned about me, let alone anyone.

*****y gave me a bottle of water and told me to stay, so I just drank water and doomscrolled.  After an hour of this (again, I was all tapped out, so I didn't have any fun with the other strippers there), I thought I was good to go.  She let me go, but she insisted on me texting her once I got home.  Now, don't tell her, I went to Chick-Fil-A first because I had an urge for a peach milkshake.  But then I got home, and I got home in one piece.  And when my cellphone picked up my house wi-fi, there waiting was a message from *****y asking me if I got home safely.

Yes, our relationship is built on sex work.  I cannot deny that when we always "hang out," money changes hands.  But that shows me that *****y loves me.  I am absolutely convinced of that.  You do not go out of your way to prevent someone from getting into an accident, and then proactively text someone whether he got home safe, if you don't love him.  Now, I know she's not in love with me; it's not like that, and I don't think it can be like that.  But our relationship, and I can't think of a better term to call it, has become different over the many, many years I have known and, well, gotten serviced by her.  This is not meaningless.  The concern for my well-being she showed me yesterday is something by which I am deeply moved.  And I guess I am still processing all that.

Ironically, I could see My Mother doing this same thing to me (not at a house party like this, of course), to which I would probably scream at her, "You're suffocating me!!!!!!!!!!"  But I don't feel that way from *****y.  Probably because *****y isn't My Mother who has confused me whenever she hasn't psychologically tortured me all my life.  Plus, I've seen *****y naked ... and I quite love seeing her naked!

I am too busy right now to talk to my folks about bills, but one of those bills, which came Saturday, is for our trash.  Mother suspended service while they were away.  I do generate trash, but not enough whereby something needs to be picked up every week.  Like I've said here, if I do have trash to throw away, I just take it to a gas station.

Anyway, this trash bill, to me, makes me think that Mother has asked for it again.  Which means they're coming home, and soon.  Goddammit.

So Mother said I had to pay property taxes on the house, and they're due at the end of the week.  Also, because she's paranoid, she wants me to personally deliver the check to the receptionist at the county government building.  I would do that if I could get out of work in time.

Saw my schedule when I came to work yesterday/Monday.  The only time I get out of work early (and thus go into work early) is tomorrow/Wednesday ... and dammit, that's when I have to go to the United FC Match playing that evening.  Well of course I would be scheduled to leave work early on a day that I shouldn't.  I sure as hell won't schlep all the way up to the county building only to go back down, pass my workplace, and to the Match.  That's a lot of driving, and I am not going to drive everywhere, especially with gas as expensive as it is now, thanks, Trump.  Moreover, I wish I would've gotten my schedule before I left work on Friday.  Sometimes my boss is able to release the following week's schedule by then.  If she did, I could check back with her and ask to work an early shift on a day other than tomorrow/Wednesday.

Best thing I can do it push my workday tomorrow/Wednesday down a half-hour.  Assuming we'll be offered overtime to key, I could just flow from work to Allianz Field without worrying about excessive downtime, which is what I could be facing otherwise.

Oh, wait ... I'm talking about my property taxes, aren't I?  So yeah, I have no time to personally hand my check over to someone.  Best I can do is drive up there well after afternoon rush and drop my check off at a drop box.  Hope I can find this box.  And I hope Mother will understand, but she won't, so I'll lie about not handing the check over to a human being or something.

So I finally talked to Mother about the mail.  Niece's birthday is coming up, and Mother remembered that, and she wants me to get money from the bank.  So I'm going to have to line up at the bank this morning.

But that's not something that sets me off.  This sets me off: She says that she'll pay me back ... "when they get home."  GODDAMMIT, DON'T REMIND ME THAT YOU'RE COMING HOME!!!

I Need To Stop Worrying About Bad Things That Might Happen And Instead Celebrate The Good Things That Actually Happen

Had to call Mother last/Monday night because there were a lot of bills that came in.  There were also a couple letters I thought she needed to know.  One of them dealt with a credit card that is about to close if my parents don't use them soon.  She told me to put it in a bag for mail she needs to look at "When she comes back home."  And I realized that it's been three months since they left and, even though I believe them when they say they're going to stay out in Las Vegas a little longer than they usually do, eventually they are going to come back.  And that makes me sad.  Not only have I not done a damn thing in regards to going through all my stuff, but I like living here on my own, as I usually do when they're wintering.  Them coming back, whenever that is, truly feels like an invasion of privacy.  And I will rue the day when they tell me they're returning here.

But I get down like that even though I don't know when that'll be -- or, and maybe I'm thinking wishfully, if they come back.  I know I need to look at the bright side -- very bright side in the case of Michigan winning the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament later last night.  That means I have won about a grand in this big bracket pool I've competed in for the past two decades.  While I always play hoping I would win, never in my wildest dreams would I think I could beat out almost 1,300 entries to place, get this, fourth.  Sure, I would have rather won and pocketed the five-figure jackpot along with it.  But I was much, much closer to the bottom for last year's Big Dance.  Honestly, I am more proud of myself for finishing in 4th place in this than getting my degree.

That's something worth celebrating, and if I celebrate hard enough, I'll forget that one day, and maybe soon, my parents will come back home.

So after work yesterday/Saturday I went to the drug store to pick up something for Mother.  When I got back to my, I noticed my phone was missing.  Damn, I knew I left it at my desk.  So I drove all the way down to grab it from my desk ... until not to see it.  So I made a more thorough search of my car, and sure enough, my cell fell over to the side of my seat.

I need to, at the very last, find a cellphone case I can see coming a while away.  I like the one I have because it's durable, but it's black, and I need a color to stand out.  Hmmm ... maybe I will buy it here!

My Sister The Proxy

So I told Mother that I got my passport book and card two and three weeks (respectively) after I applied online, and she asked for my help to coach her through the online application process for her and Father at a day I had time to help her with it.  I told her on Sunday that I could help her Monday evening.

Now, I've told all of you how much of a mental and emotional drain being on the phone with My Mother can be.  I think that planning a long phone call ahead of time, like it obviously was going to be when dealing with an online passport renewal application over the phone and not while I'm sitting next to her, helps remind me that I need to be patient.  What I didn't know, however, was that my sister just so happened to be visiting my parents in Las Vegas for a few days.  Awesome!  She basically became my on-site translator and extra set of hands!!  So sis, can you do the application process for the 'Rents ... and ooh, by the way, can you help me install a new modem and router in their condo, too?

This problem of theirs goes back at least a year.  Mother complains of dead spots, namely their dining room table, which is at the opposite end of the part of their condo where their old, slow, obsolete modem resides.  It needed a new one, I suspected, and then it needed something to boost its range and help the signal break through the condo's walls.  But I wasn't planning on going out there anytime soon, not as long as this Republican administration has the gall to snatch up anyone at the airport they decided they don't like, so I figured my folks would have to just suck it up.  My sister being there, however, changes everything.  I could tell her what the problem is and how to fix it.  So once I decided she could do this (and my sis made the online application process for both Mother and Father go so smoothly), I spent the rest of the night looking up the best modem and router to buy at an electronics store and bought them, then I texted her all the information for the three of them to pick up, bring home, and set up so Mother can finally stop bitching about their shitty wi-fi.

That part did not go smoothly.  First of all, the modem I bought for them has to be hooked up with a coaxial cable.  I thought every place had a coax, but apparently this condo only connects to the Internet outside via Ethernet.  My sister tried to see if the modem would work just hooked up through Ethernet, but she told me (on the phone Tuesday night while I was at the Timberwolves Game) that it didn't.  Also, the router I got for them was just one unit of those "meshes" or "pods" or whatever you call it.  I thought one would be enough.  I thought that if I bought them a second (which, presumably, would be placed as far away as the first "mesh" or "pod," which has to be connected to the modem, in order to maximize the range), they would complain that, like, "It looks bad," or something.  My folks can be that shallow.  Well, Mother complained (after my sis attached this new router to the old modem, which she had a bit of trouble reconnecting) that there still wasn't any range.

My sister was leaving Thursday, and there was no way my parents would even dare try hooking up this second router, so my sister got my brother to buy that second router, which could be delivered the next day (which was Wednesday) because he has Amazon Prime.  (This is where I expand the universe of this blog post by reminding you that after I got home from the Game, I saw that my thermostat didn't work and, ironically, decided to accept a free trial of Amazon Prime in order to buy the same brand of thermostat so that I didn't have to do any wire work to put in a different brand of thermostat, and get it delivered as soon as possible ... even though I put in a second different set of batteries which made the old thermostat finally work.)  My sister got this second router, she installed it Wednesday, and it ... well, I haven't asked Mother yet if the range is better.

All through this ordeal, I profusely thanked my sister for doing this favor -- for our Mother, because our Mother wanted it, but frankly, for me, too.  I don't think she had running to Best Buy and spending a good chunk of one afternoon installing new wi-fi as part of her plans while visiting my parents.  I recognize that I ask ... no, use my sister a lot when I want something done.  Most notably, when I feel like I can't talk to my brother about something I need him to know, I tell my sister and she tells him.  We were in Hong Kong for Grandmother's funeral several years ago, and we were not on speaking terms then, so we asked our sis to relay any messages we needed the other to know.  She recognized that; the night after the funeral service, when I took her to this bar I wanted to go to because I needed a drink, she told me she knows what both of us are asking her to do in order to keep the peace between us.  And she almost broke down crying.  The gravity of burying Grandmother had something to do with it, of course, but being the peacemaker brings its own anguish, and that is something we make her do.

She acted as if she didn't mind putting in a new modem and router, even though she had no previous experience.  Still, besides thanking her a lot for being my proxy, I wonder if there's something else I could do for her ... or does she have a favor I'll have to pay her in kind.  Either way, that's an obligation I should do for her.  She did this for me, after all.