If I don't form complete sentences or this is riddled with typos, I apologize in advance for the vodka. Because this day called for vodka.
Today the cellphone was a-buzzin'. My mother called with a dire report that my great aunt is in the hospital, and from her description, it was AWFUL and HORRIBLE. She talked to her and she sounded terrible, so weak, and had to get off the phone. And then went off into a story about how the doctors aren't telling her anything and it's just like with my father, he died never knowing what was wrong with him. This is irrational bullshit,he'd been sick for 20 years, he was bedridden and on oxygen and a feeding tube, and the diagnosis of aspiration pneumonia was not hidden from anyone and I called it from a hundred freaking miles away two days before he was hospitalized. But he didn't know he was sick, and when he died, it was an Awful Shock! Welcome to My Mother's Parallel Universe.
We had just sent great aunt a cake via an online bakery and my mother was concerned that it was sitting on the front porch, so I needed to call my cousin, so she could call the neighbor across the street to collect the cake.
But the whole conversation was focused on the dire condition of the great aunt, and I was truly upset and trying to figure out how to get my mother to see her aunt, and remember my mother is 80 and I have a job that is killing me and I'd like to have a life of my own, selfish bitch that I am.
So I called Cousin C, who is the glue that holds the flaky communication tree together these days, and she told me a totally different story - she'd talked to the very same great aunt in the hospital, live and in person, and she's feeling much better. It was pneumonia, nothing to mess with when you're 93, and she's on antibiotics and has no temp and they checked her heart and pronounced it fine, and she's feeling much better and plans to go home tomorrow or the next day.
So my mother called back, AFTER talking at great length to my cousin, and is still telling me this grim version of reality of my great aunt's condition. My mother's version of it is that "there was someone in the room" so "she couldn't talk." Christ Almighty, I know exactly why great aunt had to get off the phone and promise to call her after she got home, I can imagine how she felt, lying there in the freaking hospital, 93 and sick, with my mother moaning over her, convinced the doctors are lying about her condition. I'd hang up on her too. Welcome to Paranoid World, aka, the world in which I spent half my childhood.
And I'm in the same fucked up world I grew up in, as if I'd never left, and of course I didn't - the clash between my mother's version of reality and everybody else's. To hear my mother, I should be planning to put in for days off for a funeral. My cousin tells me eh, the tough old bird is doing just fine. I told my cousin my mother's version of the story and she just sighed, "She always looks for the darkest side of everything. It's really sad." Yeah, hon, and I was raised in that shit, and the old lady is my responsibility. Pass the vodka. If I can't laugh about this, it'll kill me before her.
I was going to post pictures of actual knitting, but never got around to it. And this is my weekend, my break from the stress of the week. If my brain and/or heart explodes in the next year, you all will know why.