dianarchy.net

Oh, the drama

What is it with today? I just want to go to bed and not be around anyone for a week. I don’t think I can process everything and not scream, let alone work, tomorrow.

It started out with dropping Marcus off at the airport this morning. After getting all his stuff out of the car (except the trombone I am to mail to him when he gets an address, and the air mattress I forgot that I even lent to him), I wished him luck and watched him walk away. Just as I put the car in reverse to pull out of the spot, I saw him walking back. He wanted to … give me his blessing, I suppose is the term for it. He expressed that he actually is happy for me, despite what he might have said the other day.

I didn’t really know what to say, and honestly can’t remember what I ended up saying. Probably something retarded, because that’s my general M.O.

Okay, drama part one is over. I then went to the gas station to get more gas and also buy myself some Verizon GPS to get me directions home. I am the worst person I know about getting lost. The last time I tried to leave Manchester unassisted, I ended up in Massachusetts. Granted, it’s not very difficult to do, but it’s rather unsettling to be in the completely wrong state, even if you can figure out how to get back to the right state.

I got directions to go to my grandfather’s nursing home assisted living facility. When I got there, I sat in the parking lot for a few minutes and wished I’d brought my xanax along. I left and drove down the street and sat in a different parking lot for a few minutes, still freaking out internally, but somehow the block between me and whatever lay inside made it easier. Then I said, “Fuck it. What’s he going to do? Kick me out? Call Alan?”

“Oh, God, what if Alan is there?”

“Then you can turn around and leave again. You don’t have to stay, you have to show up.”

I worry that I talk to myself argue with myself so much.

I drove over, went in, and was pleasantly surprised to not smell old people overpowering me as I came in. All I can remember from when my grandmother was sick was that awful smell. Like bleach and death and stale circus peanuts.

I looked around for someone who worked there. That was harder than it should have been, I think, but I did eventually find a woman carrying a hundred boxes and of course I interrupted her because I was nervous and I have no sense of social etiquette when I can barely keep my stomach out of my thoracic cavity.

She took me upstairs. There was someone in his room, and when she knocked on the door and said that he had a visitor, they asked for my name. I heard a woman inside say, “Diana?”, hesitate, and then tell me I could come in. Before the door opened the rest of the way, I thought I was going to be standing face-to-face with Darlene (Alan’s wife), but it was too late. The door was opening. Then there I was, standing there like a dope while my aunt rushed around the bed to hug me and my grandfather lay there getting his foot ulcers taken care of. And then, to make things worse, I started to cry. I don’t know why. It’s just what I do. I don’t know why it surprises me every time. I’ve cried during baby shampoo commercials, for pete’s sake.

Anyway. I stayed there for about an hour. Between Marcus and my aunt and my grandfather, I do not think there could be any more small talk ever uttered. Ever. We have said it all. ALL.

My grandfather has always seemed to me to be a man of few words, so I take what he does say very seriously. He doesn’t like that he’s lost his independence. I can’t even imagine how that must feel. His home is for sale. I am pretty sure he helped build it, so that can’t be easy. And when I apologized for having taken so long to come see him, he didn’t ask me why or tell me how awful a person I am. He just said, “Well, next time you come it won’t be so long.” Then he told me to get on the road so I’d get home before dark.

“Don’t worry, Grampa, I drive fast.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t drive too fast. Never more than ten over.”

“Is seven and a half okay?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.”

So I left and plugged in directions for home, then spent the next 3 hours thinking about everything that had happened today, wondering if when my aunt is going to tell Alan I was there. Also pooping. God, so much pooping today. Maine really needs to work on their rest areas. Never thought I’d miss Iowa for more than their bugfree-ness. Anyway, tangent, sorry, back on track. Half an hour before I finally made it home, I called my mom. It was nice to hear congratulations from her, for “getting rid of” Marcus. Eh. Not really something that needed congratulating, but anything that even remotely sounded like well wishes was well-received by me. Also at that point, driving was becoming difficult. No stations were coming in besides NPR, and even Marketplace was putting me to sleep.

So I got home, pooped some more (it’s either increasing my glucophage or nerves that made me poop so much today. Either way, I feel much better to be home), and then I wondered if I should even turn on my computer. I shouldn’t have. I’ve been staring at an unread email from Marcus that says, “A letter for you, to do with as you wish” as the subject line and the first few words in the body are, “I want to again a…” Written, presumably, after he read that little rant a few entries back.

Every time I think today is over, something else comes up. It does explain why he came back to the car at the airport.

But anyway. Now I’m sitting here, trying to figure out which pharmaceutical in my cabinet is best suited for getting rid of my awful headache, yet won’t give me an incurable hangover in the morning. Ugh. Can we just forget today ever happened?