Assume Nothing

I was called in to talk to my boss Friday and she told me that she was going to fire my aid, ms penguin. Now I have heard many promises from my bosses over the last couple of years, yet none of them came to fruition. After the stress of yet another crazy week I came home wanting nothing more than crawl up in a little ball and cry, but I didn’t. Instead, I watched a few shows from earlier in the week, groomed my dog, and then took my eldest to his Valentine’s dance.

Saturday morning I did not feel much better than I had the day before. I woke with a migraine, and had to take my daughter into downtown SA for her MRI. Why she could not drive herself, I am not sure, she was not being sedated, and it was an open MRI. I think she just wanted her Mommy. The receptionist told me she would be done in about 45 minutes. I picked up a magazine and tried to settle in for the wait.

Now I already had a migraine so the bass coming from the receptionist crap music was not a welcome sound. Then the receptionist got on the phone and loudly over the music, argued with her cable company. Now I had already put cotton in my ears, when I sat down, so you can imagine what volume this had to have been. After thirty minutes, I interrupted her personal call on company time and asked her to tell my daughter I was in the car. That MRI took two hours, my daughter had to sit perfectly still for two hours, I had to wait for two hours, mind you I still had a migraine.

Saturday evening I was supposed to have dinner with my old crush. He was making spaghetti and meatballs; I never turn down a free meal. Stop laughing Alvin I really do eat occasionally. Anyway, I canceled… not because I did not want to eat… but because I had a million reasons not to spend time with the first crush. I had a migraine, I was tired, I didn’t want to be on, I had doubts, I was going to be spending time with someone who wasn’t going to be honest with me or himself. I actually spent a lot of time thinking about this. I milled it over with a friend of mine who is a counselor, I talked again with the queen mother the one who had clued me in, I talked to my friend, and though we all agreed that this person needed someone, we also agreed that I had a full plate when it came to taking care of others.

His choice is something I cannot understand. I know it is a personal choice, but why would someone not choose to have an operation to have cancer removed when it was still operable? Why would someone put themselves and their family though years of watching them die a slow and painful death if there was something that could be done? Denial I understand, we have denial at one time or another, but denial about one’s health, well…. that I do not understand. A few years ago I watched someone very close to me die with the same condition, just because she did not want to have an operation that could have left her with a colostomy bag. She did however have treatment, just not the one that would have saved their life. I realize these are all personal choices and this one is none of my business, unless one is attempting to ingratiate themselves into my family’s lives. Yes, I feel crappy about my choice, but I also feel that in the long run it may be the right choice.

I was told today not to talk, not to expose my skin, not to put gloves on someone who was scratching the shit out of me… wtf? Heaven forbid I should restrict someone from hurting others or me for that matter. No, we cannot have that. This IS the final straw. I started filling out more job applications and have started counting down to June 2 or 3rd. Okay it is bad when one does not even know the exact day when they will be freed from slavery and torture.

On the other side of the fence, the police want my untrustworthy aid ms. penguin…. I do not even want to know what this is all about. However, when they call you at your place of employment and ask you for any information about her whereabouts, lets just say, it is not a good thing. I asked if this concerned one of her kids and was told no. Oh shit, what has she done this time? That is right I do not want to know… not my business, at least it wasn’t until the officer called me. I did what I had to do, told one of the bosses about the incident, and gave her the name and number of the inquiring officer; I will let them sort this out.

I would sit down and cry and moan to my friend about this, but there is someone so unappealing about a woman that bitches and moans all of the time, and I don’t want to be that person. Oh shit, I am that person. Okay perhaps I can share it here and that will suffice. After all, who are you going to tell, who gives a rat’s ass, right!

Okay so much for ending sentences with prepositions.

Lets see… what else has been going on. It seems the first crush his in denial. A few years ago he was diagnosed with colon cancer, something he still has not shared. However, his mother and the queen mother have made sure that I am aware of his condition. Therefore, I did what someone like me would do; I asked point blank. He said he had it taken care of, however, he did tell me how, though he did not go through radiation, chemo, or surgery. Now I doubt very seriously that it just went away, cancer usually doesn’t go away on its own, it spreads. The queen mother warned me not to adopt him, and that he is in a heavy state of denial. I think that this topic is going to have to be broached again face to face. I think it is only fair I know what I am getting into before I decided if I want to get into it.

I suppose that sounds selfish… I never did deny that about my character.

When someone has so much history how hard is it to throw away the history and reacquaint yourself with a person you have not seen in over sixteen year, much less really talked to in over 30 years.

When I was a little girl, my parents had a set of friends who always seemed to be stationed the same place we were. They had two children, a boy my age and a daughter a couple of years younger. We share a childhood, something most people who were military brats living overseas do not normally share.

Most of our history centered on firsts. Their son was my first crush, the first boy I ever kissed, and the first boy I ever went to second or third base with… Our parents did everything together so all of our family’s time was spent with their best friends and their kids. We used to go camping together at the beach, we learned to water ski together; learned to fish, drive a boat… you get the picture.

Last month was my parent’s sixtieth wedding anniversary and I saw my first crushes parents. They had never really liked me too much, because after all it’s me, a little wild, and extremely boy crazy. Our mothers had worked together and our fathers had worked together too. It was also apparent to all that their son and I had a crush on each other. However, after spending a couple of hours with his parents last month, I suppose that they changed their mind about me because I received an invitation to their beach house.

So today, I get this phone call out of the blue, and it is my first crush. Who said you cannot meet someone by just sitting at home alone watching movies?

I cannot say it was not an awkward phone call, because it was. I have never really known this person as an adult; I have no idea what he is like, not really. I asked him if his parents suggested he call me, and he said that when he heard they had seen me he asked them to get my phone number. Either way I don’t know, but I am glad that after a week someone gave in and gave him my number. After about forty-five minutes on the phone we exchanged information, agreed to keep in touch, share a meal, and reminisce in the near future.

So, can virtual strangers that share so much history start back at square one or does that past, that childhood count as knowing each other? Seriously I don’t even know if we have anymore in common than three grown kids, parents that were friends, and the fact that we have known each other most of our lives. On the other hand, I could just be taking this opportunity for the fresh eggs.

“Grifty” should be a word; it should be used to describe someone not quite up to grifter status, but still a drifter on the shadier side of life.

No, that is not a segue to anything that has to do with this entry, but I was told that it doesn’t matter what is in the middle of an entry it is just the beginning and end, since I drift around so much.

I was having a conversation about the drifting aging brains. It started because I had sent someone an email forward about a new category of add, for the not yet senile, or even those on the dementia train, but those who need to work the brain muscle in a different way for a tune up. One of people who received this email is an avid New York Times reader, who read an article that explored and researched the topic in How to Train the Aging Brain.

What had been written as a joke really existed, and some of us who mistake it for memory loss do not realize there is an actual condition that can be repaired by merely playing certain types of games. Mind games that is, pushing yourself to try something new, or seeking out predicament that will cause you to think differently are said to increase or reroute some of those little neuron boats that never connect to their once familiar slips. (When I was in school, I had a professor explain firing neurons in nautical terms and it was one of the best mnemonics for me, it helped me get through some of the toughest classes I ever took.)

I had an acquaintance call that brain fart break in the pathway from the neuron down the axon “losing his wire,” so to put your train back on track or learn more about this topic in an interesting blog Neurons Firing. To avoid the meds and make life just a little more interesting try some of the recommendations. Seriously the difference is noticeable much quicker that one would think.

After all, there is nothing worse than forgetting people’s names that you have worked with for years, starting a project only to realize you have in the last fifteen minutes been sidetrack completely, or can’t remember where those damn keys are you have in your left hand with your gloves. Only to be told when you are close to a psychotic break by some little kid they are in your hands. We really don’t have to feel old. Oh yes, and some advice about looking yourself in the mirror daily and telling yourself you are beautiful and you are 10 years younger than you actually are, even though you are not in denial.

So, this is what fifty-five can be… cool!

My parents gave my daughter and I gel masks that one wears over their eyes to relax tired eyes. I put mine on and said; “Now my eyes will look refreshed, and I will look young again.” To which my father retorted with, “I think you need plastic surgery for that.” I told him that if he was offering to pay for it I would be more than happy to accept, but that the gel pack was all that I would ever be able to afford on a teacher’s salary.

My parents believed that that exchange in The Graduate when Mr. McGuire gave Benjamin advice.

Mr. McGuire: I want to say one word to you. Just one word.
Benjamin: Yes, sir.
Mr. McGuire: Are you listening?
Benjamin: Yes, I am.
Mr. McGuire: Plastics.
Benjamin: Just how do you mean that, sir?

I doubt that Mr. McGuire was talking about plastic surgery, but when my parents saw the movie over and over, that was the “plastics, plastics surgery that is, that they took away from the meaning. Now I am not talking just the queen mother mind you, but my father has also bought into this hook line and sinker, bought into chasing youth, and running from the inevitable natural progression of what gravity does to our skin. Millions have been spent on creams, goob, food, vitamins, and multiple surgeries. (If I could have been gifted merely half of that money I would be mortgage free, living on easy street.) Interesting fact, my children and I are the only ones in our whole family, yes whole family who have yet to go under the knife for that glimmer for a few more years of tight skinned youth.

Okay you know I obsess, so this stupid ass exchange with my father has been running through my head for four days solid. Four days over; a stupid ass funny but true comment. Now how to get the money needed to shave 10 or 15 years off ones face. Then another conversation popped into my head…that could or could not be related depending on the answer to my next conversation.

It was yet another conversation with my father, which are memorable because he is a man of few words. However, this exchange took place a day later, in a different town, under different circumstances. “ Dad, I think when I retire the eldest and I are going to sell the house and move to either the coast or Arizona. It would be better for our health.” He reply was, “If you get a good enough price on the house I think you should rent someplace.” Now this from a realtor has me wondering why on earth he thinks I should rent rather than buy in six years time. Just as I was about to ask him why someone interrupted the conversation and I never had a chance to ask my why question. Now the answer to that could be because in 6 years, I could get a good enough price for my house to afford to take 10 to 15 years off my face and neck, or could I be so damn poor that I could not even afford the upkeep on a place. As it stands now this one alone on a single income is strapping me with repairs and HOA extra fees. Hell, if both the house and I need a facelift which would you choose yourself or the house?

I will get these and other questions answered on New Year day.