Shelli DeRobertis 5:08 p.m., June 19
He takes the psycho path.
I felt like a psycho coming home the other evening, needing peace and quiet, my residential street a happenning scene with two neighboring parties that went on well into the night. I had to park a long block away. The genius who advised me to torch my '06 F150( because it's been for sale and hasn't sold) had parked his truck (that he rarely uses) outside my door, and there it sat for three days and nights.
Yeah, maybe I'm a bit of a grouch. I've been back and forth to Poway too many times this week, and every road I usually take to visit my folks is under construction. Hey, maybe that's a metaphor for my life now....every road I usually take is under construction. My elderly mom broke her hip and had hip replacement surgery that same day. The physical therapists had her up and taking a few steps the very next morning. That's pretty amazing. Only, she's a bit out of it normally and moreso now. In the hospital after she finished her lunch, she prodded me to give the waitress a couple bucks and ask for the bill so we could leave.
Someone today called me an oreo. Not a racist slur, but a reference to being in the sandwich generation, squeezed by demands of elderly parents in declining health and still needy kids.
So, I'm a little edgy, yeah, and maybe taking things personally. The roommate's cat threw up just outside my door. Was it spite for me shooing her off my patio chair? Are the fleabites I've gotten recently from fleas that have leapt across the street from the doggy grooming van to my ankles?
What's at the bottom of the sea and twitches?
A nervous wreck.