WyzWmn's World©

I roll over and look at the clock
3:30 AM

not again….

I’d been dreaming of the house
or the loosing of the house rather….
you remember the house?…the one that I bought from the VOD for way way more money than it was worth to enable her to have a “retirement” only to loose later when Danny ran off with all my money and the truck and the bikes and the trailer and the job was gone and I was sooo sick?

I thought I’d worked my way thru all that guilt over having lost the family home 10 years ago…but I guess not…

my eyes hurt…in spite of having put the medicine in them when I went to bed
the right one feels cut so even if I can get myself to stop crying it leaks uncontrollably…and light makes it worse…I feel borderline migraine-ish and I should have known considering all the leg cramps I had last night…but there’s no tonic in the house…so no quinine for me….

I look at the clock and it’s 4:35
at least I don’t have to worry about work…the worst of the transition is over and Hysteria is on holidays…so if I’m late no one will know but me

I’m in bed and out
restlessly pacing
crying

I put medicine in my eyes and cry it out
pace into the kitchen…wipe my snotty face and back to bed
repeat

I realize it’s fear…
fear of the demise of a woman
fear of the demise of the VOD
fear if being stuck
how did I get stuck here?
wasting
waiting
how?

I don’t know how much longer I can do this

I don’t know how I can continue to resent that the bother and the blister are blissfully living thier own turbulent lives while I am here waiting for the VOD’s demise
I feel like I’m in god’s waiting room too early

she won’t go to the dr
not that she has one
I think she’s having TIA’s again
she doesn’t remember things from the very fabric of my childhood…
but she remembers bad jokes from the 30’s
she’s angry so much of the time
it’s not like she’s got religion to fall back on
or relationships
she has nothing….
she puts on the good face
when the bother or the blister put in a brief appearance
or phone
but mostly she’s waiting to die
I want her to fight
but she doesn’t get it
and it’s not like we can really talk about it
we only talk about it when I get so frustrated with her
that I get mad
and while I know that’s not good
it is what it is

is this what it will be like for me?
alone…
I won’t even have a cranky fat bald daughter to rely on…

she was once so vibrant
now she goes for days where she doesn’t get out of her pyjamas
or put her blessed face on
she won’t get her hair cut because she doesn’t want people to see her hearing aids…
she doesn’t smile or laugh because she doesn’t want people to see the horrid mess her teeth have become
she feigns sickness “the flu” so she can think she’s covering the amount that she’s drinking and I won’t catch on
I recently had to take a day off work to drive her around to try to find her a dr that would fill all her prescriptions…cos I got a call from the pharmacy and she was out of everything – heart medicine, diabetes medicine, blood pressure, thyroid….out of everything and didn’t mention it…
he Dr retired in June
and in spite of my repeated attempts to assist her in finding another
she will not
cos as long as she doesn’t have a dr she doesn’t have to go to one and find out how bad things may really be….
she won’t walk over to the grocery store next door to get herself anything healthy to eat nor will she walk the half block to the dentist to get her teeth fixed even tho the blister gave her money to do so….but she walks the half block the the liquor store a couple of times a week
she’s so small and haggard
a recluse
and I don’t know what to do about it
I want my mommy….but she’s not in there…

I’d like to spend some time with friends over the holidays…and I feel selfish wanting to do so…
she has no one but me…
and I’m vacillating between angry and sad
so
I suppose that perhaps the time has come for me to find myself a grief counsellor
not for her…but for me

it’s now 7:30
and while I can now face this monitor
and type all this out
my right eye is still weeping and my head is still full

all this
before the crack of dawn
will I be able to pull it together
to meet the day?
do I want to?

I know this too shall pass
but I wonder what exactly
I could be doing to make any of this better?
what?
what?

the sound: Deep Purple – Space Truckin, Humble Pie – 30 Days in the Hole, Harry Nilsson – Coconut, Vickie Lawrence – The Night The Lights Went Out in Georgia, Helen Reddy – Delta Dawn, Dobie Gray – Drift Away, Grand Funk Railroad – We’re an American Band, Dr John – Right Place, Wrong Time

To say that Mike and my dad didn’t get along so well is kind of the king of the understatement. Mike was a big ole bad ass biker and my dad was a cop, their relationship was the definitive oil and water.

It just wasn’t pretty on a good day.

My father couldn’t see what I saw in Mike…but mostly he couldn’t really see me anymore either so it didn’t bother me much….truly my dad and I didn’t get along so well anymore, but that’s another story. I knew Mike was right to call him though, if for nothing else than to have someone tell my mom.

Mike told me that my dad was on his way over.

What he didn’t know is that my dad was duty chief that night, so he was working, and he brought along a probationary constable. It could have been to lord it over the kid cos that was the kind of guy my father was and it also could have been to have someone without an emotional investment driving but in the end it proved to be some kind of poor judgment.

By the time my father and the kid cop get to the hospital, the boys have not only picked up the bike and taken it to the house…but they’ve picked up a couple of pizza’s and a two-four of beer and are sitting in the emergency waiting room having a meal and waiting for news on me.

So the father and the kid cop walk in to 20 er so bikers “having a party” in the waiting room. My father stomps down the hallway with the kid cop trailing him. The kid cop is already nervous cos of the “degenerates in the waiting room” so as he is coming towards my room he’s already twitchy and fingering his service revolver’s grip.

Mike is standing in my door way.

I slip back into sleep.

I wake up to the father and Mike arguing in the doorway. My father’s face is almost purple he’s so angry cos Mike won’t let him in my room. My father is not used to hearing the word no and he sure as hell wasn’t used to hearing it from someone he felt had no business telling him anything. I was, after all, his daughter, his property.

Dad is 6 ft 3, Mike is 6 ft, dad weighs 200lbs and is carrying a gun, Mike weighs 250 but has the physique of a professional weight lifter…the perfect “v” with great big shoulders and arms (that’s where the Muscle Beach nickname came from). My father is big and dark and brooding, Mike is big redhead with a ruddy complexion and is currently flaming, almost “glow in the dark” red angry.

I try to lift my head to tell Mike it’s ok and just as I do so Mike decides he’s had enough of my father and his attitude and he leans forward and tells my dad to “step the fuck off” and by way of punctuation, finger punches my dad in the chest using all 5 fingers to push him away. My father staggers back, trips over his own size 14’s and goes down on his ass, skidding a bit on the highly polished floor.

From the vantage point of the kid cop, all he sees is a room fulla bikers, and one of them pushing his boss to the ground, he freaks and pulls his gun which he trains on Mike, thank goodness he has the presence of mind to not pull the trigger yet.

The waiting room explodes into noise…voices raised, furniture crashing and the kid cop’s got sweat beading down his face and is waving his gun back and forth like a kid at a carnival mostly because he doesn’t know who to shoot first I think.

All this occurs just as my mother comes thru the sliding doors from the parking lot.