Giving My Sister The Silent Treatment Back

She texted me back just now.  Just remembered that this is around the time she pays me back for their cellphone lines.  If she hadn't texted me out of the blue, I don't know when, or if, I would have remembered she needed to pay me.

It was obvious she wanted to start a conversation with me, as if her flipping out on me over my name showing on a piece of mail she got in Hawai'i didn't happen.  She shut me down, I shut her down.  So after telling her to shut up and wait so I can check to see if I got her money, I dutifully answered her dumb, empty questions with one-word answers: "sure," "no," "fine."  She actually has the fucking balls to act as if nothing happened, like she didn't fucking put me down when all I wanted to do was help.  Goddamn her.  See if she likes the fucking silent treatment, shit. ...

Fucking Sister's Fucking Mad At Me

So on Tuesday I was downtown at our college Game-watching bar watching the Match for the final World Cup spot between Iraq and Bolivia (the Iraqis won) when I got a text from WhatsApp.  My sister texted me a picture of a piece of mail she got ... and it was in my name.  I don't live where she lives -- how in the hell is my name on a piece of mail sent to my sister's place?

So I texted her, not really upset as she was, I soon realized.  I was hanging out by myself watching some important soccer, so I texted back something innocuous but showing that I am empathizing with her.  That conversation petered out, though, so after I got home and then when I woke up Wednesday morning I thought I would check up on her.  "Do you need me to do anything?" I basically asked, to which she replied, "No, just stop talking about it."  Now I know she's mad about this, and I have to now understand whether she is mad at me.  So I ask her, and she says, "Yes, but stop talking about it."

Well, fuckin' A.  She obviously is upset that my name appears on a piece of mail (junk mail she said -- she threw it away) that has my name on it.  I don't know why or how that happened.  But it's dawned on me that she blames me for this. I texted her, both Tuesday night and Wednesday, how she wants me to help solve this.  But telling me to stop talking about it isn't solving a goddamn thing.  She just shut me down, and not only is that not productive, but it's pretty damn hurtful, too.  She won't let me fix this, so the only thing I can think of as to why she is acting like this is because she's mad at me and she wants to stay mad at me.

I thought for a long, long time to just end the conversation by giving her the middle finger emoji.  Shit, I'm still thinking about giving her that.  But I have to look to the long term, stop needing to have the last word, and not do anything that could really, really piss her off, even though by what she said she's already plenty pissed.

We have very occasional blow-ups.  I don't remember the last time she was this upset with me.  But whenever we do, it's a damn knock-down drag-out.  She can be extremely petty and unreasonable, and in turn, I decide I need to be defensive.  So, instead of giving her the finger, I didn't come back on her at all.  In fact, I muted her on WhatsApp.  And I would mute her on Facebook too if I knew how to do that without blocking her entirely.

I hate how she's making me feel.  Out of all the family members, I'm the closest to her.  She's the only one I think I can be honest and even a bit vulnerable with.  I think she understands me more than the others.  But I don't understand her right now, and I have spent a long, long time since this "exchange" thinking about what she thinks of me right now and when all of this is going to be over.  I'm trying to help, but her silent treatment is making me angry because I don't deserve that.  And I really, really don't know how in the fuck my name got on a piece of junk mail sent to her place.

This fucking sucks.  I feel like the black sheep of this family, but moreso now that I'm fighting with the only family member I am on good terms with.

An Easy Day Turned Into A Busy Night

I did one of the main chores I wanted to do on my birthday: Rake the roof.  I did that after I took a hard nap, so I was energized going into the evening, where I wanted to watch the World Baseball Classic title Game (won by Venezuela, 3-2 over the Americans) while working on my bracket.

There was one other thing I wanted to do: Clear the back deck of the half-foot of snow.  I was going to do it during the WBC, but I wanted to wait until it stopped flurrying.  Then, I got caught up on the close Game, plus I was really crunching the data on the bracket.  Then the Game got really interesting, so I decided I would shovel after the Game was over.

But gosh darnit, right after the trophy ceremony, my sister called.  And of course I had to talk to her for an hour about stuff.  Just then I remembered I had to do something else: Send out an important e-mail that had to be sent today/Wednesday or else my alumni association was going to get pissed.  That's when I had to end my phone call with my sis.  But then, instead of immediately going out to shovel, I went back to number-crunching for my bracket.  I finally got out to shovel around midnight.

Thankfully, sending out the e-mail was easy.  But I still need to think about my bracket, and I finally got around to blog posting this.  And I am tired, and I should go.  Peace.

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.

The Downside To Having A Neighbor Who's Looking Out For You

As I have told all of you, my sister's childhood best friend lives a couple houses down from me/us with her wife and their baby.  We text from time to time, but we have been in touch more since her mom passed in December.  I wanted to give her me and my family's sympathies, and then I wished her Happy Holidays, and then this fucking occupation from our goddamn Republican government began, and that is when I really started to text/bug her about sightings and, if need be, having each other's backs if the shit hits the fan.

She has a background in security, plus she has always been observant, so in the days when I got really scared about them patrolling our neighborhood and even our street, I felt, and feel, good that she will at the very least let me know if she sees something scary.  I have not been one to reach out and be friendly to neighbors, but if and when the time comes to band together, that is when it's beneficial, if not vital, to know who the people who live next and close to you are.

With all that said ... a man has needs, and for the first time since my parents finally skedaddled, I asked one of my stripper girlfriends, ******e, to come over and play with me.  She was late, of course, and this was when I came home from downtown watching the EPL after waking up early enough to see some soccer.  My body, with the help of the Bloody Mary I had, told me to rest while I waited for her.

I woke up to both a knock on the door and a buzz from my phone.  Naturally, I checked my phone first.  There was a text -- not from ******e, whom I asked to let me know when she was close, but from my sister's best friend.  She said she saw a car pull up to the driveway, and did I expect it.  And this is what I feared: Her doing the neighborly thing all too well.

I have, or had, kept to myself because I didn't want anybody peeping on my business, especially my illicit one.  And yes, I have known her for a long, long time, so it's possible that she has seen cars come up to my house before.  But I haven't asked her to watch over me in case people are taking me away until now.  And now I know for sure that she has been looking.

So I race down the door to open it and invite ******e in.  That's when I had to think of a reply, so I just said, "Yeah, I was expecting company," and then for some goddamn reason I went, "Don't tell anyone!"  Great, now I have given her reason to think I am doing something my parents don't know I'm doing.

Look, I don't think she'd tell my folks.  After all, my parents refused to attend her mother's funeral, even though they were home and the service was virtually down the street.  My folks made her mom egg rolls, and she loved them.  That's a connection that should be celebrated, or at least memorialized, as she was laid to rest.  But they declined to go, and Mother's knee is a bullshit excuse, even though Mother never raised it (and no, I didn't ask why they didn't want to go).

So that makes me think that there's no way my sister's best friend would just blurt out one day to them that I had a chick come over.  But, would she tell my sister?  Maybe.  And that's what scares me.  I hope she plays it cool and understand I'm an adult.  And I don't think I can now ask her not to look when a suspicious car drives up to my house; these assholes are still around.  But I don't think I am going to stop asking my stripper girlfriends to come over, either.  In fact, I think I am going to ask *****y to drop by, and then, hopefully, ****e* will have time the following week to clean my house.  Will she suspect something if she sees a pattern of cars drive up to the house?  And if so, will she tell?

It's weird to think that she might be thinking I'm having sex workers at my house, I'll tell you that much.

At Least We Go Through Less Stuff In The Bathroom Now

It's been a few weeks since my sister left, and even though the house is a little emptier and quieter, there is one thing I am clearly thankful for once she went back home: We go through less stuff in the bathroom now.

It is astounding how much a third person churns through.  While my sister (and Mother, who moved upstairs in preparation for her knee surgery) was using the upstairs bathroom, we seemingly used a roll of toilet paper every week.  I remember Grandmother going through rolls that quickly, but I only think she did that because she was using too much on every visit.  Also, we cracked open a bar of soap at a frightening frequency.  Worst of all was the trash.  Father put in a too-small trash can (with a lid you need to open with a foot pedal, and that should be a blog post in and of itself) in the bathroom, and that damn thing filled up, like, twice a week.  I had to empty that thing so often it got absurd.  And by the way, if I ever get an up-close look at used tampons again, it'll be too soon.

Contrast that to when I'm the only one using the bathroom.  I go through toilet rolls maybe once a month.  I throw my toilet paper in the trash, so it does accumulate, but not on a semi-weekly basis.  And if my parents ever leave, I will feel less pressure to actually cleanse myself.  I'm sure I've reached two months before getting a new bar of soap, and I miss that longer frequency.

Mother still sleeps upstairs because she loves it, so right now we're in a liminal state between the chaotic burn rate of three people and the tranquil stasis when I have the bathroom all to myself.  We go through toilet rolls and soap bars at a slower pace, but they're still too fast for my liking.  So yeah, I can't wait for the day I have the run of the house to myself ... if I ever will. ...

When You See Your Mother Scared For Her Life, It Changes You

So the weekend after Mother got her knee replaced, I was woken up by Father knocking on the door.  My sister, who was still home at the time, told him to wake me up.

When I got myself together and went to the dining room, I saw Mother sitting straight up but with her eyes closed.  My sister asked me to hold her because, according to my sis, she was feeling really dizzy, and she wasn't responding.  While my sister called the clinic at which she got her surgery, I started to hold her in case she fell over.  Mother continued to close her eyes, but all she could do was mumble.

Father thought she was just tired and needed to go back to sleep.  But after getting only the clinic's voicemail, my sister decided to call 911.  That's when, I think, Mother's mumbling started to get worrisome, like she was trying to tell us she was scared, but couldn't say the words.  Suffice it to say, I have never seen her like this before in my life.

The paramedics came.  They saw that her blood pressure was very low, caused by a combination of dehydration, constipation, and the pills she was taking.  But this wasn't a case where they give her some medicine and she'd be OK; they decided they had to take her to the ER.

Then, I saw something I'd really never seen before ... and something from Mother I had never seen before.  The paramedics needed her to get on this hammock they laid on the floor; from there, they would carry her into the ambulance parked outside.  We reminded them that she had just gotten her knee fixed; they knew, but this had to be done.

So, like ripping off a bandage, the only way to get her to lie on this hammock was to do it right in one straight shot, even though it would hurt like hell for Mother.  And it did.  Finally, Mother was able to speak, and loudly; in Chinese, she screamed, "Ow!  It hurts!"  (All this time she didn't speak English.  She must have been in some pain so deep that it made her revert to the long-term memory spots in her brain where she only knew Chinese.)  And she was really, really screaming, as if she was a little girl, howling for her suffering to stop.  I have known My Mother all her life as a domineering and even mean woman, oftentimes indifferent to other people's feelings.  But her she was, begging, even pleading for help, almost to the point of tears.  I've never seen her sound so ... well, helpless before.

---

We met Mother at the ER about an hour later.  Her eyes were open, she seemed awake and lucid, and she could even speak English again.  She was released several hours later with advice that she should drink water and electrolytes a lot more.

Mother hasn't been in that dire straits since, thank Buddha.  But the memories of that day are flooding back now that our family friend passed away unexpectedly.  While I was seeing her act like a little girl, I was thinking, "No, this can't be serious.  She can't be in real danger, can she?"  And while I don't know all the details about our family friend's death, I wonder if her relatives thought the same thing.  Maybe I haven't appreciated how close Mother was to the end.  But maybe her cries for help are something I have to heed if ... no, when the time really comes.  And that scares the hell out of me.  Because I am not ready for that, at all, and I don't think I ever will be.

So a family friend died yesterday morning.  She broke her leg a couple weeks ago.  She was in physical therapy.  Some more ailments piled up on her, but then she felt a bit better ... and then she didn't.  And now she's dead.

She lived just down the street from us.  We could see her house from ours.  Last time I saw her was when my sister and I were walking around the neighborhood for Halloween.  We stopped in her house to say hello.  She was a really nice person.

I'm still trying to process all this, but this death is really bothering me.  Mostly because of the suddenness.  My Mother was in physical therapy, and it looks as though she is going to be fine.  But this friend of the family never gets out?  That's not fucking fair, at all. ...

You Know, I Don't Think My Parents Are Sleeping Together Anymore

By that I mean literally sleeping together, not, um, figuratively (barf)

Like I've said, Mother isn't perfect, but she can walk good now.  I haven't seen her negotiate the stairs all that much, but while she takes it slow, she seems to not have an issue with walking up or down.  The exercises she needs to concentrate on now have to do with adjusting the body while isolating her new knee and putting stresses on her joints (not just her new knee) -- standing up from a chair, high kicks on stairs, stuff like that.

I say this to say that she shouldn't have too much trouble now going up and down the stairs, and down the stairs is where the master bedroom and bathroom are.  That's also where Father ends up after we have dinner.  We all split up: Him to his bedroom, me to my bedroom, and Mother to her bedroom ... which is not the same bedroom as Father's.  Anticipating that she would be incapacitated after knee surgery, they decided that they would turn my former bedroom back into a bedroom where Mother would sleep in as she recuperates.  It's upstairs (we have a split-level) because that's where the kitchen and her sewing machine is.  As long as she was confined to walking on one level, it had to be the one where she can eat and spend her hours at her hobbies.

So that was a few weeks ago.  I assumed it would be temporary, that once she was able to walk up and down stairs without too much pain, she would rightfully move back in with Father in the master bedroom.  No, that hasn't happened yet.  The few times I checked up on her, she is in her bed (it's my bed frame; while this may have been the reason she took my bed, her knee surgery was used by My Fucking Parents as an excuse to toss all the stuff that was important to me, and now I'm getting all pissed the fuck off again, so I'll move on), her pillows arranged how she wants, watching her videos on her streaming box.  She's happy as a clam in her own room.  Moreover, my sister, when she was here, asked if she wanted to move back downstairs once my sister thought Mother could walk down the stairs without too much difficulty.  Mother said no, at least for the time being, because she felt that she would make too much noise and wake Father up if and when she needed to get out of bed in the middle of the night and shuffle to the master bathroom to pee.  Two things about that.  Would that worry change now that she can walk instead of shuffle?  And since she can walk, why wouldn't she move back downstairs and bug Father like usual when she does get up to pee?  It's how they've been living all this time anyway, right?

So it's that second point I want to hone in on.  I'm starting to get the feeling that Mother actually likes her own bedroom.  Why wouldn't she?  She has the whole room to herself so she can do whatever she wants.  And I believe Father snores, and she likes that she doesn't have to hear him snoring.  If she does enjoy sleeping alone, that probably means Father likes sleeping alone as well.  He isn't getting woken up by Mother when she needs to pee, of course.  The only worry Mother has is that Father, who is getting up there in age, won't have someone around him if he falls, Buddha forbid.

I would like Mother to move back down, not gonna lie.  That way I can have the bathroom all to myself.  I don't have to move around the bathmat in case she trips over it.  I can also arrange my shampoo and toothbrush to where I want it.  Finally, I want the upper part of the house to myself in case I don't want to put any clothes on if I need to get up from my bed and shuffle into the bathroom to pee.  However, if this separate bedrooms thing is permanent, and if both parental units are going to be here for a while, this is a New Normal I really, really won't like.

Addendum To: You Know, I Don't Think My Folks Are Leaving Anytime Soon

And yesterday/Thursday, during Mother's PT, I got another sign that they won't be leaving anytime soon.  The good news coming from that session is that she's making such good progress -- or is appearing to make such good progress -- that the physical therapist recommended cancelling the next three sessions.  She just needs to work on the exercises he prescribed and come back in two weeks.

That's great.  She is walking without much assistance, even though my sister and I are worried that she is still walking sort of like a penguin.  The problem is that even though the therapist thinks the visits can be spread out to every two weeks, he thinks there should be a few more visits.  I was under the impression that Mother would be in the clear -- like completely done with everything -- six weeks after surgery.  But the way he makes it sound, there will be another session a week after My Mother hopes to get the "all clear" (and now I don't know if that is the clean bill of health I always thought it was), and then there would be, at least, one more session two weeks after that.  That session, assuming it's the final one, might fall after the New Year.

Now, this physical therapist might not have his dates right, or he may not be totally aware of My Mother's plans.  But if he is correct ... egad, my parents are going to be here through the holidays.  Sheesh.

You Know, I Don't Think My Folks Are Leaving Anytime Soon

So Mother is about halfway through her physical therapy.  She's doing really well; she barely uses her cane, doesn't use her walker anymore (at least as far as I can tell), and she frequently is able to just walk.  What PT is honing in on now is perfecting everything -- getting her knee straight at rest, giving her knee maximum flexion when needed, and walking as perfectly as possible by strengthening all the muscles that need to be strengthened.

My thought before Mother got her knee replaced would be that once she is fully healed and cleared to fly on planes, my parents would take off like bats out of hell and winter out West.  They hate the winters here.  I know that, if they had their way, they wouldn't be in town now because the cold is settling in and the snow could come any day now.  In fact, I want to think that they're beginning to look at ticket prices and packing.  Assuming the doctor giving Mother the all-clear is a given, they could be ready before her final check-in with her doctor and leave the next day.  Makes sense, wouldn't it?

Something else has come up, however: Father's dentures are now failing.  It is now tough for him to eat solid foods.  Apparently he is going out of his way to avoid using the parts of his "teeth" that hurt him.  In fact, I think my sister said parts of his dentures are infected, and that scares me; I have heard of many, many bad things happening to people that stem from infected gums.

So Father has a dental appointment next week.  The hope is that it's not that serious and he can find someone who can fix his dentures where they winter.  But apparently he needs to have his mouth scanned, and if that turns up something more serious, there's a chance the dentist recommend him get immediate, invasive care.  And that would mean he stays put.

My sister speculated that a serious operation and recovery could take several months.  Oy -- knowing my luck, that means they're not leaving the house, are they?

I went to see Purple Rain the musical last/Wednesday night.  It was good, although it ran long and it had pacing issues.  It just got out of previews and I still don't think it's in its finished form.  But I'm glad my sister convinced me to see the show.

Anyway, as much as I liked going to see it with my sis, I really am in no position to go out after I get home from work these days.  Because I am dead tired right now, so tired I think I am going to turn in.  Like, right now.  So darn tired. ...

I woke up this morning at a normal hour -- 8:30-ish, when I could hear my sister leaving for something.  I spoke with my sis last night about monitoring Mother while she does her exercises this morning and, well, I figured my sister has done so much caring for My Mother, I think it is my turn to get out of bed and help out with Mother's PT while she takes several hours for herself.

After she got done exercising, I figured I had the time and the energy to clean out the gutters, something that needed to be done.  This was the perfect time; I was up, I don't have any other time to do it this weekend, and I don't know if it will be warm enough and/or not snowing for me to do it two weekends from now because I might not have time next weekend, either.  I thought there would be more leaves and detritus to clean out, but either there wasn't as much as I thought, or I didn't look closely enough, which is a possibility.

While sweeping away the leaves from the driveway, I looked up.  The skies are gloriously cloudy, and the trees on my street are still turning vivid shades of yellow, orange and red.  This weekend, this morning, would have been the perfect time to leaf-peep.  And I checked the temperature on my phone: 35 degrees, and it feels like 28.  But it doesn't feel like 28, or 35.  Maybe I'm hot from all the gutter-cleaning I was doing, but I felt quite warm and cozy for what I was wearing.  Anyway, this looked like perfect fall weather, and so I had to take a couple pictures of how I want the sky to look every day for the rest of my life.  No, really.

I've been so busy with work and taking care of Mother and my sister being in town that I have yet to follow up with my clinic about the blood tests I took and the referral for physical therapy.  I've been meaning to do it, but I've been sidetracked by, well, everything.  And now I just remembered that I need to write down on the family calendar when I can't come home for dinner.  Gosh, things continue to get away from me.

Yes, this is a short and pithy blog post.  But it's all I have time for.  Sorry.

Addendum To: Why Doesn't My Sister Just Fuckin' Have My Car, Huh?!

Yesterday/Monday morning I woke up early, or tried to wake up early, to see if I moved all my stuff from my car to the minivan, which I planned to take to work because, again, it looked as though I would have to use the van from today/Tuesday through Friday, so what the hell, why don't I just use the van all week?

As I was leaving, I see My Father putting his shoes on.  Where's he going?  A doctor's appointment, I would learn later.  He didn't tell me this anytime it would have been useful to me; guess I know from whom I get my propensity to keep secrets.  Anyway, it looked as though he planned on using the minivan.  Mother was up at the time and tried to ask him if he should use the car instead, which led to him just bolting out the door, which led to her telling me to tell him if I wanted to use the van instead, which led to me kind of yelling at her that that's exactly what I was fucking doing.

I stopped Father in time to look into the van.  It was clean; I didn't remember, but apparently on Saturday night, I did take time after I came back from the Game I was watching to put all my stuff back into my car.  (Remember, all that stuff about planning on using the minivan all week wasn't a thought in my head until Sunday, when my sister said that she was taking the car tomorrow/Wednesday to meet her friend for dinner.)  Meanwhile, My Father got into the minivan and peeled off to the doctor's like he just robbed a bank; I don't remember the last time he took off for anywhere that fast.

So, I used my car yesterday/Monday.  And it turns out I will be using it tomorrow/Wednesday, as well.  My sister told me that the dinner her friend wants to set up changed from tomorrow/Wednesday to today/Tuesday.  Also, Father has another doctor's appointment then.  So that means that after I come back from work tonight/Tuesday night I'll have to move all my stuff from the minivan into my car (I have already put all the stuff I'll need for work today/Tuesday in the minivan).  And then after work tomorrow/Wednesday, I'll have to move all my stuff from my car into the minivan, which I will use to get to work Thursday and Friday.

Man, life will be so much simpler once everybody leaves.

Why Doesn't My Sister Just Fuckin' Have My Car, Huh?!

So my sister has been using my car.  It's small and short and thus manageable, unlike the unwieldy and old minivan my parents use.  That van is a warhorse, but it's hard to account for the size, and when I pull out of parking spaces, I'm always fearful that I'll hit something because it's so big.

Well, my sis has been using my car a lot, leaving me to use the minivan, mainly to go to and from work.  She now uses my car to ferry Mother around for physical therapy.  But before she has been using it for frivolous things, like seeing childhood friends and going shopping.  And it looks as though she is getting a little bolder when it comes to requesting it.  Last week she needed it Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday, and I figured on Wednesday night that if she needed to use the car to take Mother to PT on Friday, I might as well use the minivan on Thursday as well as Friday.  I transfer the stuff I think I need to take to work with me -- sunglasses, sunvisors, maybe the tire pressure gauge -- into the minivan.  It doesn't make sense to me to use my car for just one day because I would have to shlep all that from the minivan back into my car, and then do the reverse so my sister and Mother could use it on Friday.

It's gotten more ridiculous this week.  Mother has physical therapy Tuesday and Thursday.  Sister said on Saturday that she wanted to use my car on Friday to see my brother and niece.  Finally, last/Sunday night she told me that her friend wants to see her for dinner, an early dinner, on Wednesday.  Well, shit.  If I need to take the minivan from Tuesday to Friday, I might as well fucking take the minivan today/Monday too, right?  So, for this week, it feels as if I own the minivan and my sister owns what used to be my car.  I should probably transfer the title to her since she's using it so goddamn much.

Fuckin' Christ, I think I transferred all my stuff from the van into the car, too.  I'll have to wake up early to dump all that shit back into the van.  Fuck me.  Oh yeah: I am annoyed, and my sister knows it, and she likes that I'm annoyed.  Pffft.

So Mother was rushed to the ER yesterday.  She was complaining about being quite dizzy.  When the EMTs came, she said she had very low blood pressure.

She got stabilized at the hospital close to us.  I had work, but she looked like she was stabilized, plus, thank Buddha, my sister was there with her.

Mother got out four, five hours later.  Side effect from her medication, not enough water, constipation ... it looks as though it was a combination of all those things.  She seems fine now, but that reason seems a bit too vague for me, and I'm scared that she will have a relapse again -- especially today, since sister is out with family and took my car (again).

I hope Mother is getting better, because I can't tell.

My Sister Knows Too Much

So my sister Thursday night busted me for not putting aside the bathmat.  My Mother is using the upstairs bathroom because for now she's confined to one floor and she should where the food is.  But she's still using a walker, which means that any loose object on the floor can trip her up.

My sister had warned me to put the mat away once I was done in there, but I forgot after I took my shower.  She told/admonished me through my bedroom door, and she specifically told me that she was just going to leave the mat there for me to put away.  I guess I can't complain about her move too much, but in the context of siblings calling siblings out, I'm still quite peeved.

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Just to blow off some steam, I tried to look at porn Thursday night, too.  But the damn pop-up ad started off with a woman moaning in ecstasy as the guy stuck himself inside her, and I was listening to Halloween music on YouTube when that fucking happened.  And my sister's bedroom adjoins mine; we share a wall, and both our beds push up against that wall.

Did she hear?  I assume she has, even though she may be asleep.  I turned the sound down on my computer as soon as that porn star screamed, but it may have been too late.  My sister's smart and observant; she hears everything.

I love her, but I'm getting to the point where I wonder when is she leaving.

Turns Out I'm Doing Nothing For Halloween

I always go out on Halloween.  I don't go out for Halloween, mind you; I find something to do to avoid the trick-or-treaters.  I've done it so long it's become routine to just stay out after work.

I was making plans to go out tonight/Friday night/Halloween when I asked my sister if she wanted to do anything.  She decided she wouldn't go because she feels she needs to take care of Mother, who is still recuperating from surgery.  And you know, that totally makes sense.  We two can't just go out and do something on a Friday night three days after our mom went under the knife.  So I then thought I would just do something by myself, like get a massage or go to a movie.  But then I realized Mother still was hurt, so maybe I should come back home after work -- you know, just because.  And so I will.

Won't enjoy it.  Beyond not having a Friday night to myself, I am scared that trick-or-treaters will still ring the doorbell at my house.  I assume that my parents make sure no one comes knocking by turning off all the lights and staying in their bedroom.  But My Mother can't do that.  She is supposed to walk around the house to build up strength in her new knee.  That obviously means the lights in the house have to be on, and I'm scared some dumb or overeager kids will see that as a sign we have candy.  I would rather not be around for that awkwardness, but alas, I will be around in case that happens, unfortunately.

Disappointing Son Didn't Do What He Said He Would Do!

So Mother had surgery Tuesday.  Sister went with her.  They had to stay at a hotel overnight and be seen by a nurse who was also at the hotel tending to Mother and another patient.  Never heard that before. Anyway, that meant that Tuesday night offered up a situation I dread: Being alone with Father.

Dinner was fine because it was quiet.  He brought up stocks.  His portfolio is doing blockbuster.  Me ... I work and am tired all the time, so I'm not doing as well.  He asked me what companies I have.  I don't remember.

What I hoped he wouldn't bring up he brought up after dinner.  Of course he said, "Hey, every night you take a shower, right?"  And while trying to hide my frustration that he would belittle me with this same bullshit again, I go, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, sure."  "You brush your teeth too, right?" he replied, and I can't fucking believe he asked me if I brush my teeth every night.  I don't, but that's none of his goddamn business.

Just there and then, while I was also yeah-yeah-ing as to whether I brush my teeth, I resolved to leave the house.  Since I worked early I came home early, and that gave me the opportunity to exercise.  I then thought I wouldn't because I didn't want to leave My Fucking Father at home.  He's healthy, and as you can see he's as goddamn insufferable as ever.  But My Fucking Parents have pretty much been attached at the hip.  My Fucking Mother has taken girls' trips in the past, but Tuesday was the first time they've been away from each other longer than a trip to the grocery store.  I hate this fucker, but I would be sick to my stomach if I worked out only to come back and see him dead on the floor in front of his computer.  And yet, after he used the opportunity of being alone together to infantilize and lecture me once again about proper fucking hygiene, I decided that fear didn't fucking matter to me.

"I think I'm going to work out later," I said.

"OK," he said.

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And then I didn't.  The downside to attempting to work out after I started out my day so early is that I might want to catch up on sleep instead.  That was a possibility; I allowed myself a chance to rest once I got done eating at 5.  And I woke up at around 7:30, way too late to go out and work out.

I was curious about whether My Fucking Father could tell.  So I just moseyed out to the top of the stairs and looked at the front door.  It was all locked.  I told My Fucking Father I was going out later.  He may have forgotten.  Or, he could tell I was asleep and knew I wouldn't be going out after all.  And knowing how his negative, derisive mind works, he knew I wasn't going to do what I said I would do.

I have to admit that pisses me off, and I am as angry at myself as I am at him.  He has seen me fail to come through on things I said I would do all my life.  This is a small thing, and again, maybe he just locked the door out of habit and totally forgot about what I said after dinner.  But this one galls me, and I think it's because I lashed out after he insulted me over stupid habits he shouldn't be concerning himself with.  It was I who wanted to, in a really vague sense, "prove him wrong" (even though exercising has nothing to do with getting back at him for asking if I shower and brush my teeth, I know) and then I absolutely did not do it.

I have known for a long, long time that My Fucking Father had dreams for me when I was born.  That's the problem when you ascribe to your progeny your dreams for them; they don't come through for you because they're not their fucking dreams, they're yours.  So yeah, I have a feeling My Fucking Father was disappointed in me just because I didn't exercise like I said I would.  But I am just as disappointed in him as a father, and probably moreso.