good night moon.
good night room.
good night place that i call home.
good night to the balcony facing rockville pike, the fumes and metro noises
good night to the crazy lady two doors down who fights with her 40 year old son very loudly.
good night abdul at the front desk and wendy at night. thanks for your help and you kind words
good night bad cable selection, one toilet home, good night room with no telephone jack
.... after a ONE HOUR drive home (normally takes 20 minutes) because of a damn car crash on GA ave., my already fried nerves were just about completely burned to the core. I was like a lit cigarrette sitting on a piece of plastic, slowly melting through.
I packed a few things for my temporary a'la country living housesitting endeavor this weekend and then proceeded to have a massive panic attack that included the inability to breath, speak, a few dry-heaves and many many tears and screams in Marc's general direction. Thank GOD for a tiny little pill and two STIFF gin and tonics and maybe even a cigarette, that did not burn through anything plastic. For I am now sane and breathing relatively normally again.
I thought I was all upset about the amount of boxes still to be packed and the little things sitting out, like, my fifteen bottles of perfume, the thirteen remotes we have for three televisions and the plastic silverware that is being run thru the dishwasher yet again. And OHMYGOD how are we going to pack all that shit goddammit?!.
Then, I remembered, this is my last night here. My last night in the home where I spent a year with my dear Grandma before she died, the place where she did die. And I started to remember all the fun times I had with her in those last months. No one else was here much ... but me, and her. I got to thinking about how I was really in charge back then. I didn't realize it much then, but I dutifully scheudled her day and prepared her meals and really looked after her. I kvetched at her to take a shower, helped her dress and put on one of her beaded necklaces that she wore everywhere. We had fun for awhile, then we didn't do much, but we sat together and watched a lot of bad television.
Living here has given me then chance to be in the space that was hers and ours. But, this is my last night here, with us. I moved in there while ending a bad, very stale relationship, and soon, VERY soon, found Marc. He was across the street waiting for me. They day I moved in here, I told my Dad that my future husband was across the street. He asked if I'd been drinking.
I don't care much about the boxes because this weekend, I will use my Dad's truck and load half of them in one trip. No biggie, right? But, I'm still leaving this place behind. I'm trying to burn the images of each room into a freeze frame in my brain. But, I guess that isn't really necessary. I still have her with me and the memories of me not trusting that she washed her hands before dinner, so I'd make her lick her hands to prove to me that she washed them. She got a real kick out of that too. It's funny what you remember sometimes.
I was sad today because two of the very few people I hold near and dear to me have both said very mean things to me in the last two days. I don't know if they are true, if they even meant them seriously, but I do know that they do NOT know what I'm going through, as they haven't asked, and hell, even I didn't know until a few hours ago. But, I can't think about them now, but, I'm not a selfish* person and I'm not a braty spoiled white girl either. I'm a damn lucky person who has a fabulous family and a lot on her mind. P.S. I did manage to help my volunteer 87-year old this weekend while I should have been packing.
*Perhaps if I had been selfish, you ASSHOLE, I would have stayed home, left her without her low-sodium cheese and lactaid milk, I'd have a few more boxes packed and some sanity.
I have to go say goodnight to my rooms now.
Rural suburbs? Here we come!!!!!