“The report of my death was an exaggeration.” ~Mark Twain

Yeah, I ain’t dead. I had some travel and thought I would be able to blog, but between the craziness on the trip, the craziness back home, my back and leg issues (yes, still), well, no chance to blog. And I need to catch up on my blog reading.

Several things to fill you in on and blog about, but one item is overwhelming yesterday and today.

So Pearlsky’s mom calls and wants to visit. Turns out her elderly mom is in town and wants to see Pearlsky. Note that it has been weeks since the last quick visit.

In walks mom, grandma and stepdad. As usual, stepdad stands by the door and says and does nothing. Grandma sits on the couch sort of near Pearlsky. Mom notices that the cleaning guy who has worked for me (previously us) for twenty-three years is in the kitchen. She spends eleven minutes (yes, I noticed, have a problem with that?) talking with him. She comes back in the room and spends six minutes talking to her mom about Pearlsky and the condition of my house. They then leave. Yes, seventeen minutes.

I got a call about an hour ago.

I’m in real trouble.

What’s up?

I really hurt my back, something popped. I took a lot of drugs and barely made it to the couch.

Yes, it’s my ex, Pearlsky’s mom.

Can you take me to my physical therapist tomorrow?

First I mention that that is a non-smart decision, someone with a basic medical degree and access to an MRI may make more sense. Second, I tell her I am working and have been gone a week. Third, I mention that she has a husband.

He will be working.

Yeah, right, I forgot. I then explain that I took a cab to the hospital to get my MRI and sat alone, in pain, in a wheelchair waiting for the test, with tears in my eyes. I assured her she could deal, or her husband can help.

Don’t make me feel bad. At least five or six times I thought about helping you out during that time.

I swear, that’s a quote. Maybe next time my best man will whip out a gun and shoot me first.


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