I'm Trapped in Bizzaro World

Lawd have mercy ya'll. We've got lots to cover, so strap yourself in and grab some liquid refreshment. It's gonna be a long, bumpy ride.

The Amazon ended up not buying Dubya's old property. She was approved (on her own, mind you) for 85% of the asking price, but there was some horsechit about the selling real estate company not accepting the financing. I thought, the bank cuts a check, they get their money. Apparently I don't know jack squat. After it was suggested that I just have our property refinanced to pay for it, I said effit. More debt for me was not in my game plan.

In gardening news: One end of my garden is all weeds, but the other end is full of zucchini and beans. It seems the seeds I bought from someone on Etsy were of the mutant, hughnormous variety. There are zucchini as big around as your arm. I suspect they're actually leftovers from some shady government experiment in world domination. You could use them as lethal weapon.

No tomatoes yet, but there are plenty of blooms. The green beans seem unusually large as well. The cucumber vines have taken over everything else and are covered in blooms. I'm a little afraid.

I was off from The Asylum from last Thursday until yesterday. I cleaned carpets, moved furniture, evicted one dog crate doubling as an end table, scrubbed the kitchen floor and got my license and tags renewed.

I'm all legal and crap. Broke. But legal.

I'm supposed to get my new license in the mail. I fear the photo.

I took Ma back to the doctor last week. I told him she was hearing things, talking to people who weren't there, seeing things. I HOPED he'd ship her to the home suggest it was time for a nursing facility. Instead?

"Let's get her an appointment with a psychiatrist."


I think I've already been down this road. Last time, they sent her to a non licensed therapist who couldn't prescribe medication.

What good does it do to sit down and talk about your problems when you're in another world?

Anywho... that was last Tuesday and I've still not heard back from the service handling her referral. Yesterday she was waiting to babysit a 4 ½ month old. Then she was going to fix it some tea, because it had intestinal problems. Later, she called me in her room to take care of Michael. He'd made a mess of himself and she couldn't get in there to clean him up. She demanded that I go get him cleaned up.

Apparently I'm the maid now. Or the nurse.

And? Who the fluck is Michael? She had an old crackhead /drunk boyfriend named Michael and he did make a mess of himself quite regularly. I also have a cousin named Michael (his real name is Damien, like from The Omen, but it freaked the family out so much that they refused to call him by his first name) and I've got a one legged uncle named Michael (at least that's what I've always been told. I found out his namesake, a son, is actually named Miguel when he was arrested for having sex with a high school student a couple of years ago.. so my one legged uncle might actually be Miguel.)

Confused yet?

Thelma suggested I have her committed. That would mean that Thelma's hubby, the town cop, would come get her and take her to the nuthut in the police car. After some discussion, we decided I could just take her to the E.R. and have the same result, without involving the PoPo.


I know ya'll are sick of hearing about it. I know you're sitting there going, "Oh My God would you just take her to the home already!!!"

I don't blame you. Really.

But seriously, you take batshit crazy to the doctor and tell him she's hearing voices and talking to people who aren't there you assume he'd have enough sense to DO SOMETHING.

Maybe they have an extra bed for him.

Hopefully The Amazon can make room in her suddenly very busy social schedule so that we can use her vehicle on her day off tomorrow. Ma says she can't get in and out of Jolene, although after watching her take off across the road with her walker the other day, I doubt that's true.

So we'll see.

In the meantime, life goes on.

Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon. If I don't beat Ma to the nuthut.

Later Taters!

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