Heya, Gentle Readers. Happy New Year. How are you all?
So, Christmas happened. H and I rushed about through floods and storms and howling gales (not kidding), to see the In-Laws in a kind of festive flying leap before doing some serious Christmas Hunkering in our own home. Then we similarly hurled ourselves at my mother’s house for New Year, and now H has gone to work. But matters end not here, because next week we are visiting my Dad for a few days.
Dad is being exceedingly tiresome, forgetting things and then blaming everyone else for whatever it is he forgot, also champion blue-ribbon entries in the Emotional Blackmail And OneDownManShip State Fair, and I don’t want to go. On the other hand, I don’t want to be the daughter who neglects her old man just because he’s being tiresome and forgetful. So I am doing this for me, not him. Because I am a Good Person.
Though all bets are off if he tries to tell me that ‘in the old days people didn’t make such a fuss. Babies died all the time and people just got on with it.’ Direct quote from the dear old man a few years ago.
(a) This is horseshit, as anyone who actually reads anything written prior to 1900 bloody well knows, in that yes alas babies died all the time but it broke their parents’ hearts to fucking bits. Even early miscarriages. Once you know, you know, and you can’t unknow, and saying ‘well you wouldn’t’ve known before they invented home pregnancy tests’ is fucking pointless. And in any case, many women know from implantation, test or no, because hormones, weird. Therefore, in the ‘old days’ more people suffered more heart-break more often, actually, and hopefully their nearest and dearest were less dickish about it. Though, alas, humans=dickish, so…
And b) this is stupid, as I am getting up and dressed every morning, and I shower regularly and go to work and DO my work and occasionally do a bit of house-work and visit my friends and relations and if this is not ‘getting on with it’ then what the fuck is? Or did he actually mean ‘stop troubling me with the fact your woes are at this time considerably more woeful than mine, because my compassion circuits are badly corroded and this may short me out’?
My Dad is not well, and I can’t gauge how unwell he really is, because he veers between shouting ‘I am IRON MAN’ and yomping up a mountain, and whimpering that he’s very very old and dying and old and dying and frail and old and DYING AND OLD. Then he goes off to chop wood. Then he complains of chest pains. Then he has a whiskey or six and drags the dogs out for another 8-mile yomp. He’ll either outlive me or be found conked out mid-yomp within the next two years.
When H and I have performed our oblations on the parental altar, we will set up an appointment with Riverside Clinic. So there’s that.
And because the Universe is like that, an old school-friend died on New Year’s Eve. It’s not fair. It’s so unfair. 2013 was such an angry, destructive, vicious year for so many people, and now this, as its final parting ‘fuck you exceedingly’ gift.