I think I need my head examined.
Since today kept getting more and more bizarre, I just had to chill out with a movie. A movie that my psychologist suggested that I watch with my son, way back when he was (WAS!!!) dating a woman with Borderline Personality Disorder, who called him every thirty seconds and texted him in between calls, and became irate when he didn’t return her texts while he was in meetings. My bone-chilling fear was that she would manage to get pregnant…….but thank G-d she did not, and at last he developed, through hard work, the strength to finally leave her.
The movie, of course, is Fatal Attraction.
My skin is still crawling.
I must be having a masochistic spell, or I certainly wouldn’t have pulled that one out of the hat. Or maybe I just needed to see something weirder than my real life, these days.
Dad is doing much better now that he’s home from the nursing home. Mom is busy working on that, though, by encouraging him to stand up by himself in the bathroom (that’s when he falls down–when he’s standing up, because he can’t feel his legs, and the tile floor is always hard). ‘Round and ’round and ’round she goes, and where she stops, nobody knows.
I’m glad Dad is better. We get to spend more quality time together. After I gave him his lunch today, we had tea. He wanted a really strong tea, so he chose Irish Breakfast, and I had Earl Grey. As we shared our tea, conversation floated naturally from one topic to another. Then, on his way to the cookie jar, he fell asleep in his wheelchair, and I let him nap in peace.
My mother came in from shopping with her usual flourish, braying for the cat and waking Dad, which is hard to do. I waited until everything was settled down, and gathered my things to go.
As I was getting ready to leave, and before I had a chance to put my raincoat on, she slapped me on the arm…hard.
Memories of stinging childhood slaps.
“Don’t hit me!” I yelled.
“Why not? I can hit you if I want to. You’re my child!” Smirked Mrs. Social Worker Guardian-Ad-Litem.
“Parents who hit their children get reported to Social Services. Remember?” My mouth said it, but my mind was numb.
“Oh. Yes,” she said blankly.
So I go home and watch Fatal Attraction.
What a jerk.
I. Am. On. The. Wrong. Planet. Phone home.
