Since Monday, I've spent another morning wrangling Ma out of the floor, she's ordered a hospital bed, they've delivered it without all the parts, they've returned to fix it, she's called them to take it back, she and The Amazon have damn near killed each other and.. as it stands at this moment (subject to change) the bed people have to come back and take the wheels off so Miss Shortypants can heave her big butt up in the bed on her own.
And then? I hope to hell the situation will be resolved, for the time being.
We now have a soiled queen sized mattress propped up against the front of our house until I can get to the dump. That means I'm one step closer to earning my hillbilly merit badge. w00t!
Getting Ma out of the floor is no easy task. While she's not very tall, she's not a small woman and neither am I. When you factor in her bad knees and only having use of one arm then consider both our sizes and shapes.. well you can imagine the mass of rubbing bellies, boobs flying in every direction, four letter words, flatulence (with surprises!) barking dogs, grunts, groans and cries for mercy (mostly from me) that take place.
It ain't a purdy sight.
Afterwards, Ma is usually laying there, sprawled out on the bed, red faced and covered in sweat, looking like the morning after a busy night down at the Cat House while I'm hunched over like Quasimodo.. all before my morning coffee and my shower.
Last night, after spending an hour in a flurry of texts with The Amazon as she kept me abreast of the latest developments, I went home to find Ma wallering back up on to the too high bed.
"Oooooh just shoot me. Take that shotgun and shoot me, then take it and throw it in the river. No one will ever have to know," she moaned.
"Uh huh. That's great, but what am I supposed to do with your body?" I asked.
"Throw it in the river too. There's some big catfish down there, they'll get rid of me."
"Oh sure, I can't even waller your butt out of the floor.. and you expect me to carry you all the way down to the river? I don't think so."
"But you're gettin' better at it!" she said, grinning.
"Don'tchoo fall out of that bed. My back hurts. Gimme a chance to heal before you go carpet diving again. I ain't messin' with you no more for a day or two.Got it?" I said, as sternly as I could muster while shaking a finger in her direction.
"Bring me a Coke," was her answer.
If she goes before me.. and there are days when I'm not quite sure she will, I'm putting that on her tombstone.
And then? I get to go to The Asylum and deal with Bossholio and his joyful feckin' presence. I don't know what crawled up his grumpy old butt yesterday, but he spent the entire afternoon slamming drawers, barking orders and practicing general assholery.
I've started looking for a new job. I've not fixed up my resume yet, but I'm checking the online job sites, hoping something will turn up. I shouldn't have to take medication to keep from having an anxiety attack just because the turnip head I work for has anger issues.
If you hear of anything, let me know.
On that note, I need to get some stuff done. It's Hump Day. Hump it hard and fast while you still can.
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
2 comments:
And just when I start to think that my life sucks...I read about yours and suddenly, mine is not quite as bad. Oh it's still bad, just not as bad. I don't have to medicate to go to work, at least not yet. Good luck on the job search. I'll keep my fingers crossed for you.
Wow mahala - you live the rockstar's life, don'tcha?
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