Fluffology

I will admit this is a word I have made up. I like making up words. Fluffology is, according to the Jennifer’s Awesome Dictionary – the study of Fluff. Ology meaning study of and fluff meaning well fluff.

If you read this blog you know that it really isn’t fluffy. It isn’t casual whoopsie posts – more serious and down to earth. I do fluff off now and again but usually I talk about my spiritual growth, my experiences and whimper the crosses I try to bear without killing someone. Like bank workers. Or other people who seriously piss me off.

I piss off quite easily. I like to assign this to a planet – which is rising in my chart – it is Mars. Unfortunately for me I have Neptune directly conjunct not only my ascendant but also Mars, of course. And Saturn? Dear Lord Saturn is within 7 degrees of all of those. It has been interesting.

I spent my early years mired in depression. I didn’t know that’s what it was until someone told me, because I had always felt that way – who knew? I went from chronically depressed to acutely depressed in 1971 when I had a boyfriend who was just awful and who I finally broke up with but who I couldn’t see as the asshole he was at the time. I was with him 2 years and they were the worst two years of my life. He was a slimy little cheater person. I’ve often sat rapturous thinking about how one of the people he cheated on me with married him. Woe is me – she deserves him!

Anyway, after 1971 I spent two more years just trying to hang on to my sanity and it didn’t work very well. I got a diagnosis of manic/depressive which makes more sense to me as words than bipolar. I have these highs and lows all the time but they are not psychiatric episodes since age 21. Forty years of sanity is a blessed thing – but I’ve had to be sane because there are so many dependents I’ve had to “be there for.”

First it was my parents. Mom was told she had lung cancer in 1995, which I found out two months after my son got out of the hospital being diagnosed as – you got it – bipolar. He was 15. I hadn’t experienced the issue until I was 19 so I guess I didn’t expect him to inherit it or show symptoms so soon in his life. Given that he looks exactly like my side of the family and has certain of my personality traits, I don’t know why I didn’t figure this out. He also had insomnia when he was 9.

I tried to be there for Mom – let’s face it – I inherited this disease from someone. Mom always had you either on a pedestal or her shit list. You could never tell when you were going to leave the pedestal and move to the shit list. Once on the shit list you only came off if someone else needed your position. Growing up with her and with Dad never being home (wonder why) was difficult. I spent more time trying to placate that woman. Even her mother could not stand her. Honestly.

When I found out she was dying I went down for a visit. She told me not to bring my son, which was weird – and so I didn’t but I had to fight with the old man not to work overtime or be gone more than 8 hours a day because the kid needed someone there. He could get toxic very quickly with his medicine and he needed not to be alone for 24 hours at a time.

While I was there, Mom decided to pick a fight with me in the usual manner. They turned on PBS and they were doing a campaign to raise money. Dad said they were “begging” and I unthinkingly said that we gave money to our PBS station because we home school and we enjoy the programs. World War III broke out. I was accused of being “rich” which was a fate worse than death. I was told that giving money away was stupid and that they COULD NEVER DO THAT BECAUSE THEY WERE TOO BUSY GIVING ME ALL THEIR MONEY FOREVER AND EVER AMEN. Then she finally shut up and they went to bed. She proceeded to tell my dad that “Jenny has a big mouth and she talks too much.” What the F?

I went back home. It was the 3rd of December. She called regularly to complain. At 6 am on the day after Christmas – a day on which I’d had a fight with the brat because he wanted a video card for his computer instead of books and clothes which he got. I almost lambasted him into the next planet. Then I get a call from Mommy Dearest. She proceeds to rip Dad a new asshole and is whining about how she can’t heal if she has to stay there. Where was she planning on going? And heal? Excuse me – you’re dying – they told you, you are dying – you cannot live more than 6 months – doesn’t make an impression. I told her we needed to quit having these discussions. She hung up on me.

Voila my mother died. I told the guys – my mother just died. I’m done. I’m really fucking done. And I was. I called the chemotherapy department at Carle Clinic and asked them to contact a social worker and send them out because she was going to make my dad crazy. I told them her history of always picking on one or the other of us. I told her how the woman had sent a letter to my sister’s live in boyfriend about how horrible my sister is. Well, she is but the letter wasn’t necessary – surely he’d figured out what a bitch she is?

So the social worker calls me and is all irate with me. Wants to know why I can’t just put up with her actions until she dies. Because I won’t I said and I have a sick child who is manic/depressive and I have all that I can deal with thank you very much tell mother I said to piss off.

I thought I’d get a nasty letter but I guess she was too weak. Instead I heard nothing from Illinois until my Dad called on 2/27/96 to tell me that if I wanted to see my mother alive I should get down to their home. So the next day I went, alone, leaving my son with his irresponsible father.

Various nasty experiences then occurred which culminated in Mom’s death after three weeks. I had asked the Universe when would this be over. I had received the answer March 13. Well her funeral was the 12th and on the 13th Dad and I went shopping. He was so thrilled to be out of the house we went and ordered a half a beef (Mom wouldn’t let him do that while she was alive) and we stopped at antique stores and I bought some old blocks and a red and white quilt. We had fun.

I left the next day but Dad didn’t want me to. He wanted me to stay with him for a while but I needed to get home to my son and life. After Mom’s death Dad would drive to Detroit to visit with us and we would go down to see him at least once every two months. He was lonely and we made plans for him to live with us.

My husband’s mother passed away in 1998 after making as much trouble as she possibly could. She was almost 90. She was a pain in the ass. Neither of us had mothers we would wish on our own worst enemy. After months of dealing with foreign people trying to steal the building his mother owned and trying to steal the money too – finally my husband inherited his due as the only child. We thought about paying off our mortgage or investing the money. We invested it.

We decided later that year to find either a bed and breakfast or some place where we could make a living and he would be able to quit work – at a job he hated. We went to Vermont. Doesn’t everybody looking for a bed and breakfast?

We found a few but none that we could afford. What they don’t tell you is that you had better be able to pay your mortgage outside of the income you WILL NOT receive from the B&B. They do not support themselves.

We were told one was a really bad deal for us that we had set our sites on. Part of it was built in 1775. Golly I wanted that place. Somehow I looked at a B&B on PEI and I went there to look at several. I found a house – not a B&B and the house was super inexpensive given that the US dollar was 1.5 times the Canadian dollar and also the house came with 22 acres, a dam, an 8-acre trout pond and the house was 3200 square feet all on one level. With a kitchen designed for a chef with a Garland stove, a marble pastry counter – and an island that was 6′ x 4′.

We bought it and closed in 1999. We moved all of our stuff there that year and my son and I went up there to unpack. I sent in our application for permanent resident status. I didn’t know it was going to be that expensive or that involved. We were notified that we had to go to New York for an interview and that it would be within 14 months! You can only stay as a visitor for 6 months. Dad came to visit in July and he had been alone in Michigan since April. I decided then and there to go back to Michigan for the winter and wait for the interview there with him. We did.

We had to go get a bed for both our son and us and we had to get silverware and plates. We’d had an estate sale and they’d taken almost everything! We lived in a spartan atmosphere and then we went to Illinois to move my Dad up to Detroit. My sister had him sign a contract to sell his home to her for 1/2 its cost. Of course this was crooked. That’s the way she rolls. Dad said he didn’t want to do that and she got mad. I’m not sure he signed the contract as the signature was large and his was small. He couldn’t remember if he did or not. He wanted his lawyer to close the sale and she objected. To make a long story short she walked away. Then Dad sold it to someone else for full price. When she found that out she recorded the contract against the property to put a cloud on the title. It really wasn’t a cloud but Dad’s lawyer was old and stupid. The contract was null and void if not closed by June 16. We were fighting this in September.

She tied up his money in a trust in order to remove the contract. We left Illinois and I haven’t been back. Never going back. Dad lived with us from September of 1999 until he died on Christmas Eve of 2000. How appropriate for him – first so I wouldn’t forget the day he died and second – he was a carpenter.

Traumatic times ensued. Once the shit started to fly in 1996 it just came on coming. By 2003 I decided we were not staying on PEI. The people were downright rude. They did not want anyone coming to their home and buying property. They wanted you gone. They harassed us unmercifully at the trout pond where the previous owner had signed away rights for the whole province to fish there for thousands of years in order to get the province to build the dam.

It was awful. It took us four years to sell the house. Finally we did and here we are. Three years after moving here my husband got sick with shingles. The health problems never went away and now he’s stricken with cortical basal degeneration and I’m faced with the decision of putting him in a nursing home or trying to take care of him at home ………………. I fluctuate between one and the other which drives my son nuts.

Hubbie does not want to go to the nursing home. There is an opening in a very nice memory care unit now. It may not be open for very long. I am going to take hubbie to see it just in case because we can’t leave the decision until the last minute. If he needs a feeding tube or has a stroke or something then we have to know where to go and what to do after the hospital. Whew.

Lots of non-fluffology today ————–

 

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