well, it's been a minute, I know. not deliberately at all this time. I don't even know what the last thing is I wrote here. but I know that I have been on a Ride, Jack. and I can only hope it's over now, because I can't say one hundred that it is. but that's what life is, in truth. you can't say what the next minute will bring, but you have to act in the next minute, even if the action you choose is to do nothing. that's just how it goes. at least, that's been the week for me. and i'm going to cover the week, because tomorrow is back to the default position, and getting shit down in the Journey helps me to know i'm still on course. one day, I really need to go back and read all these entries, from Orbit to Journey, from TOTI to HPH Transportation. just so I can see what kind of a fucking ride this has REALLY been. but for today...so, day before Christmas, i'm working. I had 2 clients starting out, only had one client as I began the actual runs. the first one had called in to say they were rescheduling. so most of the day was sitting around. blessedly, it was only a half day. but it was a half day of constant diarrhea, a half day of mid-level gout/neuropathy, a half day of blowing my nose, coughing and spitting when I could to try to keep moving the infection out of me. and a half day of trying my best to get my gumption up to cook at my parent's house that evening. not to mention, the running in and out of the cold didn't do me as much good as I thought it would. sarcasm...
so I finish my day. I've gone next door, got a Gatorade, trying to start the replenishing process, knowing I've reached some dangerous levels. and I get to my parents. I had to stop at Aldi's first, and they didn't have what I needed, of course, so I had to get what they had. green beans, I mean. wanted to cook fresh, had to go with frozen. SO not the same.
I start my cooking. cabbage in the crock pot, green beans on the stove top. dressing. i'm moving slow because there's no room in my parent's kitchen. more on that in a moment, it's significant. plus, i'm hurting. the night is wearing on me. I am going into the living room, sitting, elevating my swollen legs and knife-bitten feet for a break because there's only a high bar-style stool in the kitchen, which has never had room for a kitchen table in it. but i'm pacing myself. have to get the hard half done. the turkey is the crux. once that's in the oven, I can set it down for the night, for a few hours, and reset. a good plan.
the best laid plan I had, of course. and you know how that goes. my dad, as is his wont, decides i'm apparently in HIS space, so he plops down in my 'rest' area to watch television. and now i'm stuck, pretty much on my feet. did I say my ASS WAS LEAKING the entire time? and my mind starts to go dark. because the door of realization starts to open, with the truth that my dad don't give a fuck about this dinner or anything else. he only cares about getting what he wants. like a little kid. and as I look back, I see it more as a stamp over so much of my life and interaction with him. and again, i'm trying to just keep going.
my mom, on the other hand...worrisome, worrying me with her worrying, trying hard to help when it's hard for her to do anything without pain or at a snail's pace. just in the way, in a kitchen that, again, is too small for a table of it's own. a kitchen table makes a lot of cooking possible and more fun for me, anyway. can't speak for the next guy. half-standing on swelling legs and gout/neuropathic flared feet is not. it is the opposite of fun.
in the midst, i'm trying to clean as I go, because I've no space (without a kitchen table). the little quarter-table (all I can call it) where the microwave sits is cluttered, all the counters are cluttered. I begin to see, to SEE. I start to realize that they have gone far down the rabbit hole, they have turned corners I didn't know they've turned. my dad drops crackers in the couch, leaves crumbs, open food containers and shit all over the kitchen, spills shit and just walks away from it. when we were kids, if we'd done any of these things he did, if we'd done any one thing that he does, he'd have come in from work, or his meeting, pulled both me and Jerry from our beds (bed or beds?), beaten the shit out of us, making his point abundantly, made us clean up and then acted the next day like it never happened, I see my mom saving salt & pepper packets, salad dressing pouches, condiments from fast food purchases, bags, throwaway containers, etc. I try to get rid of them, over and over, but they keep coming back. it gets my mind to racing, my sanity is slipping. not gonna lie. i'm in pain, i'm trying to cook, i'm sick, i'm developing some resentment, and i'm weary. and i'm growing dehydrated without knowing it.
okay, turkey in. four to five hours. living room is cleared. so I sit in the living room. put feet up, legs swollen, feet burning. ass still running constantly. Doctor Who keeps me company, I nod a time or two. eventually, I just give up on getting sleep, revise the plan from the day before (it's Christmas now); I'm going to finish cooking and instead of staying at my parent's house, getting cleaned up and having dinner with the family that arrives, i'm going to go home and take some pills and sleep and try to get my shit back together. I get the turkey out. I get my pies in, get my mashed potatoes done, get my cobbler done and get my ham in the oven. give my mom instructions, two hours, tops, and I gather my things and painfully make my way to my car. I make it home. i'm hurting, aching, coughing, limping, and my ass is running. Christmas, 2019. a very interesting trip so far, right?
i'll continue this when I get home (so this really is part one). I have to get productive today.
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