Trying to be responsible, I made a mistake. I made an appointment to take my mother's car in for service this morning at nine. But I need the car. I can't sit around all day waiting. There is panic shopping to be done. I need to buy things for my mother's neighborhood, the neighbors having all been so nice to my mother. They came to see her in her multiple hospital stays and while she was at the rehab facility. I need to buy some things for other's, too. My brain is becoming cloudy. Too much worry, too much care.
Last night, once again, I tried watching something on t.v. when my mother became peripatetic and pissy.
"Why do you have the t.v. up so loud?!"
"Here. You should watch some cowboy shows."
I was pissed and decided to leave the house. I picked up the keys and headed to the grocers to see if I could find some tins of gingerbread cookies or shortbread to give my mother's neighbors. It's the first time I've left the house after dark.
There was nothing like what I wanted at the grocers. Not cookies, anyway. I did buy a bottle of champagne, though. On my way out the door, I was thinking of going to another store but I ran into an old friend. Since Covid, he and his twin brother haven't gone out much. They've had some health issues, each having big chunks of skin cancer cut out of their faces. Melanoma. They've had some other problems, too. We stood and talked for a long time. I asked if he and his brother were still isolating from the world. I asked if it was O.K. to stop by.
"We can meet you out, but you can't come in the house."
I didn't ask why. I think I know. They have let their house become littered with shit. There is no place to sit. It is unbelievable to me, really. They were always such social, outgoing guys, but now they seem to have become hoarders.
I don't think I'll see them out.
The world has gotten really weird since Covid. It has never recovered fully, I think. Much was lost and not much was gained. We read more all the time about loneliness and depression and isolation. Many people live their lives on screens now, professionally and socially. Unless you have money and live in the protected parts of town, the streets are mean and full of criminals.
What the fuck do I know? It just seems that way to me who is stuck in his mother's house twenty hours a day.
When I got back to the car, the phone rang. It was my mother.
"Where ARE you?"
She does this all the time now. If I am not back to her house be 4:30, I get the same call delivered in a pathetic, terrified voice.
So, again. . . what the fuck do I know?
"I can't sleep if you are not in the house."
But when I got back, she had no plans to sleep. She wandered around on her walker aimlessly.
When bedtime comes eventually, I set the thermostat down to 74. That's right. Down to. She keeps the house too warm all day, and she complains about being cold in the night. She has taken to getting up and raising the thermostat up to 76 while I sleep. The air to dry and hot for sleeping, I roll around half awake, my mouth dry, my throat sore. I don't sleep well now, and I know it is killing me.
I'm not one to talk about the isolato twins, I guess.
Last night, unable to watch anything on television, I sent out my Christmas card and wishes to friends. To my surprise, I got responses from many. It is a goofy card I made with A.I. in the style of an old Gahan Wilson cartoon. I was going to save it for you until Christmas Eve, but what the elf, right?
Santa's a little stressed these days. He can only afford to keep four reindeer. Times are tough. His bag of presents is smaller and leaner, too. Only the privileged Trumpers will get what they want this year, and if Santa doesn't deliver, surely Hegseth will give orders to blast him from the sky. It's a Very Trumpy Christmas.
I'll make another card, maybe, for Christmas Eve. I mean, what else have I to do?
Although, walking on the Boulevard the past few weekends, I have been taking my Leica, and some of the images are fun. There have been crowds of people so that pictures of our little village take on a bit of a bigger city look. Only on the weekends, though, and I figure fuck it, if these people are going to come by cruise ship and ruin the peace and quietude, there has to be an upside, so I am going to use them for my pictures. Fair trade, I think.
I'm still waiting to see the photos by JP from last week's catalog shoot with T. I don't think he's cooking up his own photos. I think he has someone do them for him. Just a guess, but it is a logical one. There are retouchers galore.
O.K. Alright. I got a post in before I leave for the repair shop. My mother is up just as I finish. Another painful day begins. Ho ho ho.
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