I have just spent 6 straight days with my Mother. I have PTSD and a brain like mush. It could be several days before I can think straight or maybe the party I'm going to tomorrow night could fix that with booze and drugs and wild sex. Damn that won't work, I can't drink, never got the hang of smoking pot and I've forgotten what wild sex is.
There were several close calls with matricide. After ironing for five hours, it's not irrational to want to put the pillowcases in the linen cupboard before she wants them on the bed. After all she hasn't seen these in twelve months. That's how many pillow cases she has, twelve months and she hasn't needed the ones I've just ironed. Twenty-five of them and seven tri-pillows. I can't throw rocks, I have nearly as many. It's one of the first things she taught me to sew. My side of the bed had lovely lace and linen, his side had cheap crap. Do blokes do anything in bed other than drool, dribble and snore?
Where was I? The ironing board goes up and down which makes it easy for me to sit and iron except the lock decided to give way but I was wearing my 'granny basher' boots and no bones were broken but a lot of blasphemy rules were. Because we now had so many nicely ironed pillow cases to put away, a complete re-arrangement of the linen cupboard had to follow. In the process I found another two huge bags of papers, bills and Christmas cards. I swear the stuff is breeding.
I only kept bank records and bills from one year back. My Mother is the only person I know who ties up her old bills and envelopes in ribbon which she then puts in a plastic bag which then goes into another bigger bag. There must be a name for a phobia for putting things in things in things. The bank records were illuminating. National Bank of Australia has a lot to answer for in relation to the debt this woman is in. Letter after letter from NAB Mastercard offering a pre-approved loan upgrade. The last one I opened earlier this year had the amount going from $8000 to $13000 and they have to know she's a pensioner. Their charges are a disgrace as well and I'm sure they make the statements as hard as possible to read so no-one can understand them.
The Brick Outhouse was not amused at me finding the curls from his first haircut. He was more not amused when I offered to frame them. The only thing I didn't find was the lifetime guarantee for the shower rose which fell out of its fitting on Monday morning. Murphy's Law.
I dare not weigh myself. Stress eating for six days is bound to do nasty things. I really am going to have to drink tomorrow night, just enough to relax, not enough to have a hangover on Sunday. Hard rubbish collection is on Monday and I have to drag it all out. Murphy's Law.