Friday, April 5, 2013
Her call woke me up, as I had snuck back to bed after the boys had left to get a couple of extra hours of sleep, because I've been going on 3-4 hours a night for the last week.
My brains is screaming "AAAAHHHHH!" My mouth doesn't actually say a word.
The assistant continues in her oh-so-calm-and-gentle voice "As you probably know, your regular dentist has retired and I've put you up with our new dentist Mrs X".
My brains is still screaming, half an octave higher, perhaps. Weird sounds is coming from my mouth, but no actual words.
The secretary is droning on and my brains is heading out to deep space. While I'm struggling to fully wake up and get control of my brains, it lashes out things like "I don't wanna! I hate you! I don't have time! I HAVE NO MONEY!"
My mouth starts spewing "I HAve n...!" I clamp my hand over my mouth. Only silence can be heard from the other end of the line now. I'm pretty sure she heard that slap and I go "Uhm...I mean...".
Internally I'm berating myself furiously "For fuck's sake, Cara, you're 43, get your act together! You whimp!"
I hear the secretary taking a deep breath, getting ready to speak and I know in my heart that if the secretary starts on her lecture on how procrastination will affect my anxiety and how it will eventually lead to a Cara without teeth, in her oh-so-calm-and-gentle voice, I'll bloody well strangle her through the cellphone connection. And scream profanities the whole time.
"Fine!" I say, and she lets out her breath again. "Give me an appointment after the 18th." My voice is somewhat strangled, but at least I manage to make sense and I am not spewing profanities. That counts as polite, right?
What a good start of the day. Now I have scrambled brains with worms. The kind of worms that eat sanity. And that song is playing, with those cackling voices chiming:
...Hee, hee, ha, ha
They're coming to take you away
Earlier this week, I took my mother to her doctor's appointment. She was at her ...best. She basically blamed my father's stroke on the psycho terrorist who shot and killed all those teenagers at Utøya. She also told the doctor - who was doing her best at recommending they at least arranged for a nurse to come see them twice a week - that they didn't need to move to a nursing home, or any such, because their daughters were good girls who loved to help them with EVERYTHING...
Oh, ye faithful
We're trying to get them to agree to moving into a nursing home. They've decided to agree, changed their minds, changed their minds again. And again. It's driving everybody nuts. I do understand them. It's tough to get old and realize you can't really manage on your own anymore. I'm a terrible person for saying this, but I'm actually glad we don't have a big house, because if they'd have deemed it big enough, they'd be outside my door with each their suitcase, grinning widely, while telling me how lucky I was that they were now moving in. Like 2 years ago.
...and now I've wasted both your time and mine with brainless ramble. You're quite welcome.
I've uploaded the Easter photos to my computer, but obviously my attempts at making a proper post with pictures and the story of Georg the Hero-dog, failed.
I'm not procrastinating. No, no, no. [in old Norse] I'm doing something else. Completely different.
Going to the vet to get prescriptions for Georg. He's got worms of a different kind, poor boy, but at least it's easily curable. I'm not so sure my insanity is...
Have a GREAT insane weekend! I know I will. Whee!