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it's not worth it.
Feb. 11th, 2025 08:39 pmthose were the words that escaped under my breath walking out of dad's house tonight, trying hard to NOT slam the door: "It's not worth it."
any of it; all of it. something something diminishing returns.
When I showed up and shimmied out of my hoodie, dad was confused: he thought I drove all the way up there just to get two industrial-sized boxes of granola bars and then head out. "No, you have drawstrings that need unknotted?" I asked, but he can't hear and certainly doesn't listen, so it took three tries and some snark on his end for him to remember what he'd asked me to do (and then threw a fit when I didn't drop everything to do it on Sunday). Three pants with tightly-knotted drawstrings. I brought dpns to use, and they did eventually serve to pry apart the flannel pulled too taut and cemented into place with maude-knows-what. I jokingly said they could buy me dinner, and next thing I know we're headed to my car and to the Mexican place in an old Pizza Hut building. He can barely get his legs into my car, and now he can't make the arms and hands work to buckle himself in. That, of course, led to a litany of wrongs in cars, because how dare he ever say anything nice about anything. and no, he doesn't want your feedback or opinion, he just wants to bitch. He's got an audience now, one that isn't hard of hearing, and by golly, he's got A LIST.
I got lucky at dinner, that I was across from Diane, not him. He's losing his social skills at an alarming rate, as one does when they're low-vision, hard of hearing, and isolated. he two-fists his food like a toddler starved, and it is NOT pretty. He's demanding. hogs the salsa, then demands I summon more, rather than just asking for it with his order. he's already making a bunch of substitutions on his dinner.
the drive home is more of the same. epic one-up-manship. I comment on gas prices. he mentions as he always does, that they get $1/gal off at Kroger. I get $0.20/gal off at Speedway as an employee. that last part doesn't matter, because HE gets $1/gal off at Kroger... I'm driving, so I resist the urge to turn to him and scream that NO ONE CARES, because you have to shop at Kroger to get that, and I don't grocery shop three times a week for things I don't need.
I have to run inside to get the granola bars and my drink, or I'd cut and run so fast the neighbors would surely pop their heads out at the commotion. Now that I'm home, I'm low-level angry, the kind that paralyzes me and prevents any sort of useful action. but it's the same anger that has me wanting to load up my car, drive southeast, and never look back.
it's just not worth it.
any of it; all of it. something something diminishing returns.
When I showed up and shimmied out of my hoodie, dad was confused: he thought I drove all the way up there just to get two industrial-sized boxes of granola bars and then head out. "No, you have drawstrings that need unknotted?" I asked, but he can't hear and certainly doesn't listen, so it took three tries and some snark on his end for him to remember what he'd asked me to do (and then threw a fit when I didn't drop everything to do it on Sunday). Three pants with tightly-knotted drawstrings. I brought dpns to use, and they did eventually serve to pry apart the flannel pulled too taut and cemented into place with maude-knows-what. I jokingly said they could buy me dinner, and next thing I know we're headed to my car and to the Mexican place in an old Pizza Hut building. He can barely get his legs into my car, and now he can't make the arms and hands work to buckle himself in. That, of course, led to a litany of wrongs in cars, because how dare he ever say anything nice about anything. and no, he doesn't want your feedback or opinion, he just wants to bitch. He's got an audience now, one that isn't hard of hearing, and by golly, he's got A LIST.
I got lucky at dinner, that I was across from Diane, not him. He's losing his social skills at an alarming rate, as one does when they're low-vision, hard of hearing, and isolated. he two-fists his food like a toddler starved, and it is NOT pretty. He's demanding. hogs the salsa, then demands I summon more, rather than just asking for it with his order. he's already making a bunch of substitutions on his dinner.
the drive home is more of the same. epic one-up-manship. I comment on gas prices. he mentions as he always does, that they get $1/gal off at Kroger. I get $0.20/gal off at Speedway as an employee. that last part doesn't matter, because HE gets $1/gal off at Kroger... I'm driving, so I resist the urge to turn to him and scream that NO ONE CARES, because you have to shop at Kroger to get that, and I don't grocery shop three times a week for things I don't need.
I have to run inside to get the granola bars and my drink, or I'd cut and run so fast the neighbors would surely pop their heads out at the commotion. Now that I'm home, I'm low-level angry, the kind that paralyzes me and prevents any sort of useful action. but it's the same anger that has me wanting to load up my car, drive southeast, and never look back.
it's just not worth it.
extra catch-up, please
Jan. 24th, 2025 10:19 pmDad had a stroke in early December. "very small" are the adjectives the doctors are using. only minorly affected his left side, but it took two ER visits with overnight stays over two weeks to figure out WTF was wrong. the initial high fever/no infection whatsoever may have been a warning sign missed.
a week-plus in hospital had him discharged to inpatient rehab, or Stroke Boot Camp. discharged from that to home with OT, PT, and home health visits.
through all of this, his attitude is that (1) he will fully recover to quite possibly better than pre-stroke abilities and (2) his eventual death is optional.
please bear with me while I scream into the void.
This week saw him on the phone with the VA, requesting additional OT/PT, mad that he's not fully recovered. oh, denial is deep enough to drown in in that house. At least he's using his rolling walker to get around.
Meanwhile, stepmom has breast cancer. but, at 80, that's hardly a thing to freak out over. it's stage 1, fully contained lumps like marbles that will be easy to evict. the docs are still working out what is where, so no surgery scheduled yet, but she's signed up with all the things for post-op assistance. and yet.
reluctantly spent the night up there on Tuesday, having lost power while single digits outside. while dad took his 8:30pm nap, I mentioned that they might want to consider getting a countertop microwave. Dad cannot lift either arm over his head, and according to her, at least, he can manage to get his coffee mug in/out of the over-stove microwave "OK." if it requires two hands, he can't do it.
post op, even if it's just lop-it-offa-me, not full removal of breast(s), there will be pain, lifting restrictions, and more. Denial came sweeping through the room like hurricane Helene, and the sour look on her face told me that she was NOT having any of this nonsense of having to make accommodations for her own recovery. Far too distasteful. even as a temporary measure. one agency she signed up with does meals. there will be microwaving of food, no doubt. why not suck it up and reduce the risk of harm to her or dad, even if temporarily?
I need to pass this on to The Boys. The Boys being her 3 sons, but also my brother. The Boys are all a distance away, while my brother and I are local. The Middle Child and only girl is going to end up being The Responsible Adult. Again.
Dad's stroke brought up some other unpleasant-to-the-parents stuff, like do they have DNRs or Healthcare POAs or what? They do, recently re-written. "oh, we have copies for you kids, but we just haven't given them to you yet," I am told, while my dad's left side is uncooperative. I get my hands on the copies of dad's DNR and POA stuff, but stepmom declines to provide copies of hers, even to mail to her kids. her kids promptly lose their shit that docs are being withheld. No, asshole, your mother can't be bothered. In all of this, the wills cannot be located (or parted with. copies, that is. copies made specifically so all five of us have them). I have the attorney's name and if push comes to shove, that'll get the ball rolling.
the mere mention of separating dad from his stuff sends him into a toddler panic-tantrum. I not-so-gently remind him that we can do this now, or we trash everything after he dies. Nearly 25 years in and he still can't part with what's essentially trash from mom. Very Expensive Professionals are going to be required to do this while he's alive.
the "regular" calls with middle stepbrothers have happened exactly once. I'll poke him this weekend, and share the microwave incident.
all through this, it's clear that everyone expects me to run this shitshow. Only girl. not and never married. no kids. 1 mile closer than my brother, and clearly no responsibilities. my thoughts on this all get increasingly uncharitable as time passes. I dig my heels in, mentally packing up my car to head southeast and never look back.
a week-plus in hospital had him discharged to inpatient rehab, or Stroke Boot Camp. discharged from that to home with OT, PT, and home health visits.
through all of this, his attitude is that (1) he will fully recover to quite possibly better than pre-stroke abilities and (2) his eventual death is optional.
please bear with me while I scream into the void.
This week saw him on the phone with the VA, requesting additional OT/PT, mad that he's not fully recovered. oh, denial is deep enough to drown in in that house. At least he's using his rolling walker to get around.
Meanwhile, stepmom has breast cancer. but, at 80, that's hardly a thing to freak out over. it's stage 1, fully contained lumps like marbles that will be easy to evict. the docs are still working out what is where, so no surgery scheduled yet, but she's signed up with all the things for post-op assistance. and yet.
reluctantly spent the night up there on Tuesday, having lost power while single digits outside. while dad took his 8:30pm nap, I mentioned that they might want to consider getting a countertop microwave. Dad cannot lift either arm over his head, and according to her, at least, he can manage to get his coffee mug in/out of the over-stove microwave "OK." if it requires two hands, he can't do it.
post op, even if it's just lop-it-offa-me, not full removal of breast(s), there will be pain, lifting restrictions, and more. Denial came sweeping through the room like hurricane Helene, and the sour look on her face told me that she was NOT having any of this nonsense of having to make accommodations for her own recovery. Far too distasteful. even as a temporary measure. one agency she signed up with does meals. there will be microwaving of food, no doubt. why not suck it up and reduce the risk of harm to her or dad, even if temporarily?
I need to pass this on to The Boys. The Boys being her 3 sons, but also my brother. The Boys are all a distance away, while my brother and I are local. The Middle Child and only girl is going to end up being The Responsible Adult. Again.
Dad's stroke brought up some other unpleasant-to-the-parents stuff, like do they have DNRs or Healthcare POAs or what? They do, recently re-written. "oh, we have copies for you kids, but we just haven't given them to you yet," I am told, while my dad's left side is uncooperative. I get my hands on the copies of dad's DNR and POA stuff, but stepmom declines to provide copies of hers, even to mail to her kids. her kids promptly lose their shit that docs are being withheld. No, asshole, your mother can't be bothered. In all of this, the wills cannot be located (or parted with. copies, that is. copies made specifically so all five of us have them). I have the attorney's name and if push comes to shove, that'll get the ball rolling.
the mere mention of separating dad from his stuff sends him into a toddler panic-tantrum. I not-so-gently remind him that we can do this now, or we trash everything after he dies. Nearly 25 years in and he still can't part with what's essentially trash from mom. Very Expensive Professionals are going to be required to do this while he's alive.
the "regular" calls with middle stepbrothers have happened exactly once. I'll poke him this weekend, and share the microwave incident.
all through this, it's clear that everyone expects me to run this shitshow. Only girl. not and never married. no kids. 1 mile closer than my brother, and clearly no responsibilities. my thoughts on this all get increasingly uncharitable as time passes. I dig my heels in, mentally packing up my car to head southeast and never look back.
Asheville 2.0
Mar. 11th, 2024 08:05 pmPotholes and daffodils were in full bloom in TN last weekend as I made my way home from Asheville. The daffodils look more like stealth plantings, rather than the beautifully curated highway fields of NC; it was almost pathetic to see a small clump of yellow and green in this giant swath of brown dead grass between asphalt. I'm also starting to recognize the state I'm in by its highways. Eastern NC is flat, but twisty-turny as it follows a river; KY is very up-and-down hilly, with some twists and turns; TN is a good mix of of the two, and not too much of either, but definitely more of both than Ohio. WV, which I will take on again Wednesday night, is more of a full-contact sport, and I have to remember that the second I cross the Ohio River in WV I need to slow the eff down because holy crap we're not in straight-flat Ohio anymore. VA starts to stretch out the aggressiveness of WV a bit, and bless them for their slow truck lanes on those long uphills. I could really do without that one descent on the way home, downhill and then into a left turn with nothing but dead drop off to the right. freaks me out every single time. I recognize it coming, now, and I can't decide if I should be proud that I know these landmarks in this 1000 mile round trip?
Turns out that (1) it's far more efficient to return the way I came and (2) the trip is downright pleasant when the world isn't on fire and I'm counting seconds until showtime. who knew? First leg of the trip down was rainy, and rain + night = unpleasant driving, but getting on the road earlier, and being closer to spring meant I had far more daylight than my last trip straight south. I need to remember that the world is AGGRESSIVELY THREE DIMENTIONAL once you cross the Ohio River, and make good use of Google Street View when booking hotels. I nearly choked when I saw the ascent required to get to Friday night's accommodations, and then took this photo just before leaving.
Asheville, as I was quickly reminded, is also aggressively three-dimensional. I try to study maps before I go, to get a vague lay of the land, major roads, etc, but the way things twist and turn and follow the topography, I'm hopelessly lost within seconds. Street parking in a hilly neighborhood was not my idea of a good time, to hiring a Lyft to the show was worth the money. I made my way to downtown, and because it was upper 60s and sunny, everyone and their dog was out and about and it was just too people-y for me. As much as I wanted to see the area around Citizen Vinyl in daylight, I also really wanted a nap. and food. I found my hotel, and then hit up Bojangles for Battle of the Biscuits, Part 3. At 2:45 I got checked into my hotel, unloaded, and collapsed onto the bed. I required 7 of the 8 pillow just to get comfy. Why do these fancypants pillows deflate so easily?
While resting prior to the show, i heard my phone go off a couple times, and I checked it -- my cousin Terri was also in Asheville, and did I have plans for breakfast? holy crap! I don't think we could've planned this if we tried! OK, she's actually my second cousin, as her grandfather and my father are [half] brothers 22 years apart. We are pretty sure the last time we saw each other was at my brother's HS graduation party. I know we've tried to connect a few times when she's been back in Ohio, but now that her mom isn't here, she really doesn't make it back. it was fantastic to see her and catch up, and to meet her husband, and hang with someone so much like me. she may not be a Bogner by blood, but by golly, she's definitely one of us. maybe all the good-crazy is from Grandma's side?
I spent more time than I'll ever admit being extremely juvenile about not getting to talk to Darren. It's ridiculous, I know, but my brain has decided we are equally invested in each other somehow, and him not having time for me set my little squirrel brain all a-tizzy. Now that I've had time to reflect on it, I realize what a ridiculous brat I'm being, especially given he was doing two shows, two nights in a row. It looks like he's quite possibly touring with CCL as their drummer which means yay paycheck for him, but who knows when I'll see him play his own stuff again. Those shows overlap with when I'll be back in the Triangle in April, so I know I won't see him at Flyleaf. Maybe I'll see him at WFLR, or the Eno House this Thursday?
Turns out that (1) it's far more efficient to return the way I came and (2) the trip is downright pleasant when the world isn't on fire and I'm counting seconds until showtime. who knew? First leg of the trip down was rainy, and rain + night = unpleasant driving, but getting on the road earlier, and being closer to spring meant I had far more daylight than my last trip straight south. I need to remember that the world is AGGRESSIVELY THREE DIMENTIONAL once you cross the Ohio River, and make good use of Google Street View when booking hotels. I nearly choked when I saw the ascent required to get to Friday night's accommodations, and then took this photo just before leaving.
Asheville, as I was quickly reminded, is also aggressively three-dimensional. I try to study maps before I go, to get a vague lay of the land, major roads, etc, but the way things twist and turn and follow the topography, I'm hopelessly lost within seconds. Street parking in a hilly neighborhood was not my idea of a good time, to hiring a Lyft to the show was worth the money. I made my way to downtown, and because it was upper 60s and sunny, everyone and their dog was out and about and it was just too people-y for me. As much as I wanted to see the area around Citizen Vinyl in daylight, I also really wanted a nap. and food. I found my hotel, and then hit up Bojangles for Battle of the Biscuits, Part 3. At 2:45 I got checked into my hotel, unloaded, and collapsed onto the bed. I required 7 of the 8 pillow just to get comfy. Why do these fancypants pillows deflate so easily?
While resting prior to the show, i heard my phone go off a couple times, and I checked it -- my cousin Terri was also in Asheville, and did I have plans for breakfast? holy crap! I don't think we could've planned this if we tried! OK, she's actually my second cousin, as her grandfather and my father are [half] brothers 22 years apart. We are pretty sure the last time we saw each other was at my brother's HS graduation party. I know we've tried to connect a few times when she's been back in Ohio, but now that her mom isn't here, she really doesn't make it back. it was fantastic to see her and catch up, and to meet her husband, and hang with someone so much like me. she may not be a Bogner by blood, but by golly, she's definitely one of us. maybe all the good-crazy is from Grandma's side?
I spent more time than I'll ever admit being extremely juvenile about not getting to talk to Darren. It's ridiculous, I know, but my brain has decided we are equally invested in each other somehow, and him not having time for me set my little squirrel brain all a-tizzy. Now that I've had time to reflect on it, I realize what a ridiculous brat I'm being, especially given he was doing two shows, two nights in a row. It looks like he's quite possibly touring with CCL as their drummer which means yay paycheck for him, but who knows when I'll see him play his own stuff again. Those shows overlap with when I'll be back in the Triangle in April, so I know I won't see him at Flyleaf. Maybe I'll see him at WFLR, or the Eno House this Thursday?
