JKINATL2 – Jonathan’s Place

Goddess, please save me from turning this or any entry into some self serving overshare, but I wanted to fill you guys in.

Thanks for all the notes of encouragement and hope and similar stories of crazy. Seriously, it’s the knowledge that I am not alone in this jungle that makes it bearable.

I am not fitting in here in North Carolina very well. Not that I did, really. After living in Atlanta and being all self esteemy and stuff, I find it hard not to be more direct and honest when it comes to simple – or not simple- interactions. I am nice and smiley much of the time. But when someone says or does something inappropriate, I am not too shocked or ashamed to point it out. I think I made the lady at H and R Block nervous when I told her that she was less qualified than I or my mother at filling out the absurdly simple online computer tax forms she was way overcharging for, when she made her seventh or eighth mistake.

Hey, I make typos alla time. It just does not cost several thousand dollars to people when I do. Just saying.

It costs three times as much to live here than in Atlanta, and the people seem far more rude rude and awful. The gay scene is something out of 1983, and I fit in about as well as a cold sore.

That having been said, I am here for another week, probably. Got Mom’s plumbing straightened out. The house, not her vagina, you pervs.  I leave that mess to the gods. Though I know she occasionally has spotting and periods. How do I know this? SHE TELLS ME. Because nothing washed down a home cooked meal quite like that little nugget of knowledge.

Anyhow, it only took one dramatic nightmarish incident to start the process of repairing this home, that Mom left to fall into shambles after dad died, and that I dreaded – but promised – to come over and help sort/fix.  Three bathrooms, in various states of utter disrepair, in a 40 year old house, with a brand of plumbing no longer widely made, was gonna cost. We were lucky with the four hundred dollars it ended up costing. Yes, Mom, this is right out of my inheritance. Go ahead and amend said will accordingly. Argh, southern passive-aggressive mentality. I literally had to pack up all my junk and get into the car before she called my cell and asked me back to actually help, after calling me some nasty names.

People.

Anyhow, got job number one done. Job number two is the unfortunate tree wreckage in the front yard, and what might be a hedge in the front, if the Addams family lived here. These are being tended to tomorrow and Thursday, along with an appointment to monitor mom’s pacemaker through the telephone, which I will help her practice, but stand aside and watch her do in person. It’s seriously a two step process. Place monitor over pacemaker. Push button. Wait for all lights to light up and three beeps. Push button again. Okay, three steps. But you would thing I was asking her to program in C++.

She does suffer from mild dementia. But not this level of dementia. And like I said, in our spectacularly dramatic conversation, if she is incapable or unwilling to do what is required to live on her own, it stands to reason that she should not. Yikes.

Anyhow, I am here still. And probably for a week longer than I thought I would be. And still her will/tust/power of attorney stuff is untouched. I shall download the documents from the web, except for the trust stuff. Save us many hundreds of dollars. But that will be another battle for another time. Now that I know that, when I leave, the house will A) not fall into complete disrepair, and B) not be foreclosed upon because of conveniently forgotten tax payments, I will sleep a lot easier.

I am learning to hold multi-hour conversations with people, while wearing a baseball cap, about FOX news and the state of the universe, while either A) completely shading my own opinion, or B) completely altering it depending on the level of expertise on the part of the person I am paying which I, myself, do not possess. You have a backhoe and I have a tree stump? Then by Gods, I voted for Bush again. Whatever. Just put the yard in order and don’t charge me too much. Man, it’s easy to hate one’s self as a home-owner.

All that having been said, every meal is like a Food Network Challenge. You have half an onion, half a pepper, some garlic, a can of diced tomatoes, no spices, no olive oil, now make a spectacular italian meal. And.. go! My God, I am a good cook.

All I can say about Mom’s spice cabinet is, if there happens to be a worldwide shortage of Cream of Tartar or semi-sweet chocolate chips, you know where to look first.

I do love her an awful lot. She does  drive me batty. And I cannot wait to get home, and Richard and Adam are saints for looking after my place and my ferrets like they have, They even hid my bong because the maintenance people were going to retile the bathroom this week. Goddess love them.

Dialup sucks donkey penis.

I miss my old forum and blog, but find myself not spending precious internet time perusing it. What does that say? Ack, its like breaking up with someone, and then realizing you no longer check out his/her facebook/MySpace page every day, just once or twice a week or so. Am I getting over it?

Missing too many doses of meds. Hard to schedule intestinal issues amidst the workmen and the phone calls and the meal prep and the drama. Am going to take them tonight before bedtime. AIDS, oddly, is easier with no prior or overreaching commitments. It is its own occupation sometimes.

AIDS also has my permission to suck donkey penii.

As does age, infirmity, and the changing of the biological guard.

I actually told my mom, in so many words, not to “start that shit with me today” when she was complaining, mid-job, about the price of the plumbing work.  Fuck me sideways, I am becoming dad. Some tell me when I edge into elder abuse, please.

I miss home. All Mom’s candles smell like fake shortbread cookies, even when you don’t light them.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, April 14th, 2009 at 11:30 pm and is filed under Stuff that I wish were in a book. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.