Ah-lah. Almost ten-thirty p.m. and I am just home from rehearsal. It went SO much better. And I have an office! My own little stage with a carpet and a desk and...My Very Own Life-Sized Fabio!
Yes, yes, I know that many of you do not find him attractive. Well, that's okay. He's a symbol, y'all. Of romance novels and ridiculously male sexuality. Like, oh Barbarella. A cartoonish symbol which I am hoping people (especially women) get and find funny.
It's so wrong it's fantastic! Know what I mean?
Okay, maybe not but in my warped brain it totally works.
And like I said, the rehearsal went much better. Sure, we lost our way a few times but we wended and wandered and came back to the path.
We dress-rehearsed and I even wore make-up, and our darling young Dee-Dee looked at me when I came in and said, "You look so young!" Haha! She's fourteen. One has to wonder what that little girl thinks of us. I at least know now that she thinks I look old. Which is fine. I am.
She lusted after my red, buckley shoes. I just might have to give them to her when this whole thing is over. Maybe. I might just keep 'em. They're pretty awesome.
And so it goes. And so it goes.
Tomorrow will be a long day. I take my mother to the doctor to get her rechecked as to her mental state. The very, very sad part is that we have to hope that she has declined because that insurance company still ain't paying, those sons of bitches. She called me the other day and said, "Mary, I need to just move back home. I can't afford to live here."
Well, aside from the fact that her home is up for sale and has no furniture in it, she isn't able to live by herself any more. She can't go to the store, she can't cook, she can't take her meds on her own. She insisted though, that she can live on pineapple and cottage cheese and peanut butter and bananas, the way she did for a long time before she moved. She did admit that she couldn't handle her own medications, though.
God, this is sad. God, this is wrong.
I'm too tired to go into a rant and so I won't, but it's just such a fucking bad scenario. And so I shall take her to the doctor and hope that she doesn't know what day it is and that something has changed enough that the STUPID DOODY-HEAD INSURANCE COMPANY THAT SHE WROTE CHECKS TO FOR YEARS AND YEARS will finally qualify her.
Back when she could write checks.
Back when she could remember to write checks.
Back when she could write.
But then I'm going to Lily's midwife appointment and then I'm taking care of Owen and I miss that little boy. And then another rehearsal tomorrow night.
I do get tired and I do get overwhelmed but I have to remember that for now, while I CAN do these things, it is a gift to have them to do. It won't always be this way and that's as sure a thing as I know. And the play will be over in three weeks and my new grandchild will be coming in a little over a month (please, PLEASE Baby, don't be early!) and I am just solid-gold lucky.
But if I'm a bit quiet in the comment-answering, please forgive.
Time is like a silver fish these days, swimming with the current, fast and with no turning back.
Which is the way it is.
From the shining spirit in me to the shining spirit in you...Ms. Moon