Where Does The Time Go?

It's high school graduation season around here and for the first time since I walked across the stage many, many moons ago I've got a stake in this.

Until the last few weeks, I'd been so consumed with making sure this kid, one of my niblings, would graduate that the dizzy brain waves of oh-dear-God-we're-all-HOW-old didn't kick in until now. I tutored. I reminded about homework, make up work, turning in anything and everything. I begged, literally begged this child to grab every chance of extra credit just in case.

This kid did not have my school career. I treated school as seriously as administrators threaten students that they should.*cough* nerd *cough* Permanent record! You'll use all of this! *cough* I aimed to be most likely to succeed until I aimed to just get the hell on with life. This kiddo, not so much. Brains, check. Ability, check. Desire - we've got a runner.

So, to see them stride across the stage and have their name on their diploma is like a partial weight lifting from my shoulders. I'm not tackling the angst of what comes next for a few months, so I'm just going to bask in the relief. And let my brain turn over and over how weird it is that this kid is a high school graduate.

I waited for this kid to be born. I was a nervous wreck driving to the hospital when they arrived. I changed their diaper, held them when they were sick. I watched them grow with a mixture of awe and a deep hope that their life would be so much better than they could imagine. I was there for lows and highs. I hoped that I set some kind of decent example  (something sorely lacking in this kid's life) and taught something, anything positive that would stick with them as they grow.

I know where the time has gone. Every climb up difficult moments. Every tear shed. Every fear of what comes next. Every movie seen together. Every meal cooked together. Every moment of regular life that fills in the space between special moments. I just can't get over that the little chubby cheeked toddler drives, is in a relationship, has been accepted to college and all the rest of it. And I can't believe that I've somehow managed to survive this long after my own high school graduation, navigating the unknown.

And this

Tired

At the beginning of this year one of our local library branches announced 2 writing contests. My caustic cohorts merry band of writing friends decided to all submit a story for the second contest after one among us entered and earned an honorable mention in the first contest.

And it was all fun and games (which really boils down to snark) until I received the email that I'd gotten an honorable mention this time around.

Incidentally, my friend placed this time around and one day will be a Pulitzer prize winner, which is not currently relevant beyond my need to remind this person to write more. *cough*

I now, with literally a few days' notice, am to present myself in a library multi-purpose room and read the story I wrote. Aloud. In front of other people.

Instead of quietly rehearsing in my own private hell, I'm having to manage my mom completely coming undone. All because of the fact I'm getting a little paper certificate.

God help me, when I got the email notifying me I was at my desk with my mother hovering nearby. I was startled to see "Congratulations" in the body of the email and didn't think quick enough to take the proper precautions. Which means, as a general rule, keep my mouth shut until whoever I'd tell is in a more private area. And in an instant my mother knew. And demanded to attend the small award ceremony.

When I was little and would have school events and award ceremonies I never hesitated to want my mom to attend. She was, as far as I could see, perfectly together and didn't do anything weird. And at the time, social anxiety aside, she was a perfectly doting mother. Once I was a teenager and had finally witnessed her have a full breakdown, once her meds had been adjusting I still didn't have a second thought to her attending stuff.

We've crossed a bit of a burning bridge at this point though. And while I took a day to consider that she's on a new medicine and has seemingly had less problems as the week progressed (the amount of time she's been on this new medicine), today happened. Full meltdown where she all but told me I was a horrific mistake that never should have been born - or at least a really shitty daughter who has failed her miserably. The best part was when she started spitting out favorite sayings her predatory father apparently used to say. Nothing dirty, just sayings along the lines of 'right as rain' or 'more than one way to skin a cat'. I also enjoyed her shrieking swear words at me, telling me what a potty mouth I have.

If only.

Mom later told me her outburst was because she was overtired and NOT because the topic of the award ceremony and my story came up 15 seconds before it started.

I'm tired, folks. It's suddenly the night before what I hope is a quick and relatively painless event and I'd rather skip it and take a nap. Or drink a pitcher of margaritas. Or doze on a gently rocking boat with a paperback resting on my chest and a floppy hat covering my eyes.

Made possible by

My day was made possible by my TENS unit and my mom's psychiatrist.

A TENS unit, for those of you not in the know, is a magical little device that shocks the living hell out of your nerves to ease pain. That's a little dramatic, but that's the kind of mood I'm in so I'm going with it.

My electrode pads, those little white patches in the picture, don't typically stray from my spine. The basic idea of the unit is a current travels across the skin and along nerves to disrupt pain signals. The unit can also help increase your body's production of endorphins. Provided you don't crank that bad boy up to full strength immediately to imitate getting kicked by a mule at the same time you lick an electric fence, it doesn't hurt. It is, quite frankly, a miracle in my opinion. Long time readers may remember I have an issue or two I've inherited from my parents where the best solutions doctors offer are those nifty drugs advertised on tv as may cause cancer, tuberculosis or death.

And to those who have the delight of intense menstrual cramping? Give it a go. Seriously. Minimize your time in the fetal position of agony - unless that's your thing. Sciatica? Migraines? Chronic pain? It can help, though as with anything else, results vary. For me so far, it's worked like a champ. And it's a relatively inexpensive purchase from everyone's favorite on-line retailer.

My mother has been on a manic-y and hallucination-filled ride of late. She picks apart her food at every meal to look for things hidden within. Last week she claimed someone had etched a message on a chicken bone. She thought her chair was full of ants, but sat there anyway taking on imaginary bites. After a meal out with my father on Valentine's Day and a generally pleasant day, she ended February 14th asking my father if he wanted a divorce so he could be free of her. And she sees pencil shavings in ice cubes at the moment, so hold the ice for the time being. I won't even begin to explain the debacle that took place when she asked for hot chocolate and believed we'd given her something else.

"She claims that's what she gave me." This is what she told my father about 30 minutes in to what became a night-long event.

So, I was delighted when the psychiatrist's office moved her appointment up. Because these day's it's a constant weighing of each situation to decide if she needs to be seen ASAP or this is just the new normal.

He makes it look effortless.

In addition to adjusting Mom's medication this time (for about the 4th or 5th time in less than a year), the doctor gave me her personal cell phone number to keep her updated more easily.

Well that's gotta be a good sign. Right?

Yeah, I didn't think so either.

It's a difficult step to add another new medication to my mom's list and not one her doctor took lightly. Decades of being on heavy-duty anti-psychotics, some for far longer than is now recommended, have wrecked some of my mom's organs. It limits what she can take now. Gold standards in treatment have to be avoided because they would kill her.

So we add a new, fast acting prescription and wait and see if it helps control the rampant visual & tactile hallucinations, delusions and off the charts paranoia.

Gifting

Disclaimer: This is post, very obviously, is a first world problem kind of thing. With that in mind, we proceed.

I love finding the right gift for people. I'd love it a whole lot more if I had several million in disposable income, but you get the idea.

Can I get an Amen?

But I love gift giving. The agonizing over options is my own personal over-analyzing sweet spot.

What I suck at, very much something that's developed over the last few years, is giving people ideas for me. My lists used to be littered with books and.. well, mostly books. A few odds and ends here and there, but usually books rounded out the bulk of it. And despite my main gift givers being hardcore readers, they resisted.

My increasing age has added to my sense of being pragmatic. I'm at the age where unless it's from a tried and true favorite author of mine, I'll test drive it from the library first (whenever possible). My office, bedroom and bookshelves have stacks of books I touched long enough to bring home from the store. I struggle to find time and focus to read library books as it is and at least they have a time limit involved to push things along.

Beyond books, I'm practical about jewelry. Sure, I like sparkly things but I have a reaction to silver and anything with nickel. That price tag just went through the roof on anything I'd be interested in. And frankly, I wear the same earrings and same necklace every day anyway - simple, practical pieces. I'm always in a rush and if I don't just leave it all on from one day to the next, I'd never remember to even wear my wedding band.

Note to self - check for pants and shoes before leaving house.

As for all the rest?

I want a genealogy and organizational fairy godmother. *Poof* Family pictures and documents scanned, organized and preserved in a neat space with back up stored off site. *Poof* Here's the missing records you've needed to tracing down another 5 generations. *Poof* Family history stories recorded for posterity. *Poof* *Poof* *Nose twitch* 1890 Census restored. (American genealogy joke & desperate wish - most of it was destroyed in a fire).

I also want a $300 USB typewriter-style keyboard. But I don't understand when Christmas gifts had to be hundreds of dollars a piece and stocking stuffers are the price I like to average on regular gifts. Those of you buying $25-$50 & up stocking stuffers are throwing the whole thing out of whack. So I don't ask for a $300 USB typewriter-style keyboard because that's more than I'd budget for my own entire Christmas gift experience, gifts under the tree and stocking.

So aside from an expansion pack to my favorite (filthy) card game and a gift subscription to something genealogy based, I'm good this year. I don't have kiddos to watch and enjoy the holiday experience. (Another something I'd like but isn't an option.) I have older folks who will open slippers and undershirts and the like. I have a husband who reads this blog, so my lips are sealed on any further comment there.

Am I upset about the state of my potential personal gift receiving experience? Nope. My husband's not pleased but I'm good.

The hubby will roll his eyes at this. Guaranteed.