Wednesday, June 23, 2010

A Day In the Life

"Why do I have to go?" The pleading in her voice made my guts feel as if they were weighted with lead.
"Because we can't take care of you like we used to." I give her another spoonful of pureed chicken and dumplings purposely not making eye contact. My hand is trembling a little, but I don't think she notices.
"You can take care of me. All of you can. You have been. I'll be very quiet." She continues looking at me, eyes that were once mirthful now full of pain and misty with tears. I look at her, her tiny face weathered with the long years of her life, the toothless mouth that had once smiled freely was now puckered into a frown of worry.
"You know we can't. With that hip of yours, your doctor says you need to go someplace more well equipped to deal with your needs." I feel sick as I say it, thinking of every television show, news program or anything else my mind can conjure that reminds me how terrible nursing homes are. I wish I could convince her it wasn't my choice, that I'm just her house staff, that I fought for her to stay. Corporate saw her as a liability, I saw her as a person I had helped live for the last three and a half years. Corporate won.
"Will they be mean to me?" she whispers as I help her get a drink of water through a sippy cup. It's funny how we start off as children, and if we live to old age, we revert back to that. I dab her chin with a napkin.
"They had better not be since we'll be visiting every week." I mean it when I say it, but how long before my words are just so much hot air?
"I'm scared Crit." A tear slips down her cheek. I wipe it away with another napkin. I have no idea what to say, so I just take her hand and give it a squeeze. I think of what old age will be like for me. I'm scared too.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Linda Blair, You Had It Right!

There are times that I wish I could possess people.
I'm not talking Linda Blair, exorcist, spitting pea soup and jamming my who-ha with a crucifix kind of possession but something a little more subtle.
I wish I could possess my friends and loved one's when I think they're acting like asses, when they vote republican or they admit to watching shows like The Bachelor.
Better yet, I wish I could possess them when I feel like they are being taken advantage of. I wish I could take over their bodies and senses and defend them against threats like cheating lovers with lips dripping with sweet and enticing promises. I wish I could say for them the things that their hearts and their fears of being alone and damn near thirty prevent them from saying.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

I spent the better part of the day lending a sympathetic ear to the lamentations (said in true Conan the Barbarian fashion) of a friend of mine who I just know could be happy if she could let go of her sinking ship ex-boyfriend that she keeps hoping will somehow change after 34 years of being an ass. She cried. She stomped her feet. She tugged her hair all because she hoped for the best in another human being and was sorely disappointed.
A vivacious, beautiful, opinionated sass-mouth of a woman becomes a ooey, gooey, invertebrate at the sight of a man who has stolen her time, her money, the majority of her 20's, and her ability to trust with her whole heart. The heart is a cruel, twisted mistress.
She seemed equally dumbfounded at her inability to tell him to fuck off and die (one of her favorite expressions during equally stressful situations). It was while I listened to her relive all of the negatives of 5 years with Mr. I Suck, that I had the notion of wishing I could possess her, drive to his house and not only curse him out, but say all of the things she was afraid to say for fear of burning bridges with a schlomo since she was nearing thirty, and by Kentucky standards, an old maid. I wanted to see his face when he realized she wasn't going to keep waiting around and that he couldn't keep using her as the old stand by. I wanted to use her hand to smack him in the face, literally and figuratively, with all of the resentment, anger and hurt that she's been carrying around for the last year.
While she continued venting, I was a bad friend and drifted off in my own thoughts a bit thinking about all of the other friends I would like to help out through Critty possession. My bestie who has lingered around a lying, slick talking jerk-off who won't even give her the satisfaction of being his "girlfriend" after 2 years of his demanding, egotistical, self absorbed buffoonery even though it obviously hurts her to keep herself open without any promise of a future commitment. Another friend who is scared to talk to men period, needs someone to take over who isn't petrified of social interaction. Come on lady, you have boobies, use their power!
I'm scared of clowns, spiders, heights and the thought of someone grabbing my foot from underneath my car at night and had always kind of berated myself for it. Looking at the lives of others, however, I take pride in my ability to communicate effectively with others, including my romantic partner. I don't let fear of someone getting mad at me keep me from saying what is on my mind. I think this comes from my willingness to be myself. I have no facade to maintain, no painted face to keep from cracking, no lie to keep weaving to hold someone close. If you love me, it's really me you love and not some idea that I've invented to draw you in. It isn't until now that I realize how amazing a feat is just to be your unfiltered, unprocessed, chemically un-altered self.

I will keep lending an ear, hoping that my honest opinion remains good enough for those around me. Hell, maybe it'll rub off.


Now playing: Helen Stellar - Io
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Now playing: Sia - I'm In Here (Piano/Vocal Version)
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