The John Stakes Diary

Last Wednesday, so it was time to start getting down to business, with the window washing out of the way.

Internet is out.

Which is one of the big reasons I didn't post much from last week. Not the primary ones, but it sure didn't help.

Heinous outages. Like, two hours in the afternoon. Then two hours around dinnertime. Then two hours later at night. Crap, there was one at around 1:30 in the morning which made me nuts.

Phone would go out too at times. And the weekend previous there were serious cable problems. Like, a whole bunch of channels not working. For days.

Mom wanted to call and see if there was an actual outage. I figure there's no doubt. Add to the fact that the cable company sent a postcard in the mail saying they were going to be doing upgrades (but only for one day, and almost a week into the future thoug) I figured it was a slam dunk there was one.

Against my opining, she eventually calls. Yeah, service is out they say. Be back later that morning.

Same deal afterwards, outages galore.

I try to work offline, tough going. Tired.


Mom picks up the car. As she leaves the service station, the dashboard light problem reveals itself again. Car stays at the mechanic.

Now she's worried, because it may not be back before Daddio returns on Thursday. And she's feeling like she might be an imbecile for trusting the guy. I try to pick her up as best I can, despite it not being my strength. A tune up and good looking over was a good idea. The timing belt, replacing that is better safe than sorry. The dashboard stuff, maybe it'd be the start of worse problems.

At least I'm not berating her, I guess.


More drama that day. Bank calls, says someone made a withdrawl yesterday and wanted to know how that experience was for them. Thing is, no one made a withdrawl. And they're not exactly sure who did either? Person says it could've been my brother. Only thing is brother doesn't have a car to get to said bank.

She calls the bank. Turns out it was Bro. He busted bankage at a branch near where he lives. Guess a friend drove him. He had told me when I was supposed to pick him up for Mom's b-day that I we were going to have to go on an errand.


So all was well. Still a tad too rough of a Vegas week for my taste though. Man, looks like those days of yore are gone for good.

Ah, last night I procrastinated and then Daddio hit me with a surprise attack poke. That lasted three hours. After he already had been in for a late afternoon session.

Crank up the time machine to go back two more days. Well, one week and two more days.

On the plus side, it doesn't appear anymore to me that the rest of the postings for Vegasweek will be all that epic in length. Every day just kinda FELT epic, a bit anyway.

Well, this post sorta turned out long, so who knows.

--------------------------------

Last Tuesday I was up and outside at 6:30 in the morning for the window washin party.

Almost didn't go. Mom had said she'd wake me up early. She opened the door and popped her head in, but then just closed it without saying a word.

Sure as hell felt like staying in bed until my regular wakeup time. Seemed like she was cool to it. Who knows how those moods can shift though.

And I definitely don't want to come across as a lazy slob, so out I went. Shivering in my sweatshorts, waiting for some of that record heat to start to build. Wouldn't be long.

Because of the early start that heat wasn't so bad. Still needed lots of water and such.

We suck at window washing. They look better afterwards, but there's all sorts of streaks and globs at the bottom and such. She starts moaning about how terrible she is, I say hey, we do this once a year, how good could we possibly be?

The task opened me up to the neighbors. As I was doing the front, one was getting ready to go for her walk, stops by. "Hey John, you want to come over and do mine afterwards?"

It'd be fine if that's where it ended, but it don't. As I'm on the ladder doing the kitchen window, she continues the neighborly banter. "Are you still doing music?" Oh boy. Shoot me now.

The line of questioning doesn't keep going where I fear it might. She looks to the left, into our open garage. "You've got TWO old cars in there?" she says. Yep, and they both don't work. "Your Dad can't part with them, huh?" I smile. Yeah. She smiles back.

I wonder how much the neighbors talk about him. Probably more back in the day than now, with less neighbors to be had and Mom interacting with them less.


We finish up a little before noon. Mom suggests I take a nap. I was gonna go nah, getting up the one hour earlier doesn't faze me like that, and I wanted to show that. But I was still a little tired from only getting the 3 1/2 hours the night before. Hey, she suggested, why not.

I couldn't really do it. I have a hard time falling asleep in the daylight, conscience won't let me. Working almost a full day in the heat by noon sure eased it though. I think I might have been able to make it happen this time, if it weren't for the well-timed phone rings right when I was starting to relax.

Still... it felt so GOOD afterward. And it wasn't even really the nap, or just resting. More like just doing what I wanted to do at that particular moment, having that small indulgence. Felt so much better afterward.

The change of plans for the day had helped. It was Mom's birthday that Monday. Tuesday I was set to make dinner, drive to go get my brother and bring him back, then drive him back home again. aka a day chock full of UGH. On a Vegas vacation day, it's hard for my mind to cope.

Because of the gillion degree heat, she didn't want me to cook and heat up the house. So we were gonna go out to eat, I was gonna make a dinner on Friday instead. I had volunteered to make one of her experimental extravaganzas in one of her cookbooks, she had talked me down to tortellini soup, which I make for her anyway all the friggin time, so it wouldn't have been special at all.

Good news. One of the people who called was the mechanic. Car isn't going to be ready today. No having to get ready to go out, driving to get the bro hoping to avoid rush hour traffic, eating on display in public. Ahhhhh. Only the window washing.

Bad news. She cancels lunch plans with her friends for the next day. Owwwwwwwww the pain.

Last Monday, I did not sleep well, despite all being resolved.

Up half the night while Mom was asleep, taking advantage of the night owl not being around.

Which made me not in the best of shape for the party that would be Dad's Vegas vacation with Mom home. Washing windows was how we were set to celebrate. W00t. God, what the hell happened here?

Turns out all I had to do was hose the house down, which wasn't as long a deal. The real work was set for Tuesday. Cause Mom was taking her car in to get looked at. All sorts of lights on the dashboard panel going on for no reason. Check engine light, reverse popping on when you ain't, something else.

Midmorning she gets a phonecall from the mechanic, and I am blown.

He told her it would be $1300. And she agreed to pay that.

Holy shit. Wasn't she screaming at me at how poor she is? Doesn't that seem a lot for some lights that are popping up at the wrong time?

I can't feign my wow. She explains. Says he's giving the car a thorough tuneup. Asked if she wanted the timing belt replaced, those are difficult to get to. And then there's part of the computer dealio to fix the dashboard panel, the smallest cost of the three.

Hmm. I wonder if she's being taken for a ride, big time. I say next time maybe she should look up stuff on the 'net before she agrees to such a costly bunch of fixes.

Asks me to do it, right there. Alright. We fire up the computer, I get the cursor in the ol' search box. "Put in '1970 Toyota Camry...'" she says.

I look at her all WTF. It's a 2000. aka a huge fucking difference. She notices her mistake. "Damn, I always say that! That's what I told him when he asked me what year the car was!" Laughs.

I breathe deep. "When you brought it in?"

"Yeah."

Oh boy.

I look for repair costs. Turns out the guy's prices seemed pretty competitive. Or lots of people are gettin ripped off. Egh, actually I didn't look too hard. What's done is done. It didn't seem like a crazy rape.

But I do seem to find bad news. Every match of symptoms we found for her auto, those people said it turned out that the trunk wiring was what was effed up on the car, not the computer. And she had been rear ended just a few months ago...

Should I have made her call the dude and hold off on that shit? She didn't feel the need. Why press?

She felt awful.

I felt awful.

Not sure if this whole setup is gonna work.


She was supposed to go exercising for a couple hours that night. Needed the car for that. So it was cancelled. Along with my joy.

Had to get to bed early that night. Cause she wanted to get an early start on those windows. Cause it was going to be a near 100 degree day.

Agh. I don't know about all these flashback posts now. I'm having to travel through the time to make this match up right.

Don't know if I got it in me to get it up to write FIVE epics that happened the week before this one.

Some might be short. It's not like I took notes though, or have been thinking my way through them at all, so it feels like they're fading away a bit.

Either way, I think I can summon the fire to bust at least one more obese post. Wootothehoo.

------------------------------------

Ok, so last Sunday. The dream happens. After more than a quarter of a year, Daddio FINALLY goes back to Vegas.

The vibe is anything but celebratory.

It's the day I've got to bust my New Plan. Wow the mother somehow. Conform and become a working bee?

Hehe.

Was I crazy nervous?

A little. Not too bad. See, part of the reason I wasn't as stressed about taxation was a part of me was FINE with things exploding.

I didn't want it to happen really, mind you. Basically it was being able to see the positives if this whole situation blew up.

I've got two or three months worth of cash to live off of. If I had to leave and get a hotel room again like once upon a time, do you know how fucking great of a tradeoff that would be in some areas? Complete privacy? No screaming matches all around me? No Sunday church? It'd be a fucking dream.

Two or three months though, that's not a whole lot of time.

Still. I could crawl back here afterward and do what they want. Or maybe my brother would let me live with him for awhile. Egh, I don't know.

Like the last time, I might feel too pukey if the family was all panicked and crazed by my decision. Think I could handle that better now. I'm much more together than I was then, believe it or not.


That said, the proposal was still awful to write. Ugh, man. I'm tired of this. This shit has got to stop. John tired.

That said 2, I had much confidence in my new proposal. That she would really want to accept it. That it probably had the best chance of working of anything I've offered up so far.

Despite its concessions venturing into some territory I had always made sure were safe and protected. Now I was opening the gates, letting some possible enemies deeper than they probably should be. But still figuring out a way to keep them somewhat at bay.

-----------------------------------------

Man, I really should've asked her when she was coming back from Disneyland.

I thought her arrival back was going to be an anal morning time. Oh no.

I had to go to church because Daddio was still in the building. Come back, she still isn't there.

1 o' clock, 2 o' clock, 3 o'clock. Still no show.

Shit. LOOK AT ALL THAT FREE TIME DAMMIT!!!! Oh the waste.

Instead of enjoying it, I'm twisting in the wind, waiting for our big talk. I figure I'll vacuum, since I don't like people around to watch me do that either.

Around 4:15, she shows. In a fairly good mood. I can see she is still wary about today's festivities. Didn't think I would actually write something up like she asked.

It isn't long until she inquires about it. I say uh huh, I did it. Print it out for her to read. As she does, I go into the front room, waiting for the explosion.


What I basically said was this:

-That I guess it's obvious that I've always needed help, since this is a problem I've basically been struggling for millions of years with and haven't been able to get a handle on myself.

- I said that I don't think it's professional help I need though. And even if it was, I wouldn't take it when she offered when she was working, so I sure as hell wouldn't take it now.

- I told her that I can't handle being left to my own devices for months on end without anybody to answer to. Not yet anyway. Once I build some strong work habits, I think it's possible.

- I asked her to be after me on a continual basis, asking me how and what I'm doing, for the next two months.

- I outline some goals for those next two months, tried to explain the logistics of how I'd get there.

- I told her about earlier goals I had, because she thought I didn't have any before.

- I told her the job market is complete and total doggyshit right now, and it'd make sense to not enter, and instead plant a foundation and see if it doesn't make for the better future.

- I told her that she should start her own business too, or at least look into it, even if I wasn't entirely sold on the idea. Who knows how good it could be for her?

She comes out. No rage like I half-expected, at least at first. Seems like she read the whole thing. And liked it. Even if she has reservations.


The conversation diverts immediately into a discussion about Dad. And pretty much stays as the focus. And I'm not even the one who steers it that way.

She says she's basically waiting for Dad to die. Which isn't such a big surprise, with her screaming "DROP DEAD!" over and over to him a couple months back. She feels bad.

I tell her how I was wishing for that a lot too, months back. Now, not so much. Not that I still wouldn't be appreciative. I worked it out more logically... that I don't want to live with Mom for forever, and if he was gone I'd feel a little strange with her all alone. Man, that's deformed.

And spiritually, well. I got voodoo advice from one of my favorite sources that says you can't effect other people like that, or that you can't make what you want happen when you wish bad stuff on people. Whatever.

"Oh John..." she says. "I feel so bad that you never had a father..." She's never said that before. I'm kind of taken aback. I don't know, I've HAD a father, I don't place myself in those categories of kids. He was always around. Always. Heh, to infest us with his sickness.

I actually want the conversation to stay more on track, at times.


The safety built into my proposal is... I don't have to show her anything, my informing her of my progress is based on the honor system. That intimidates me a bit, because I used to lie like the wind. I'm nowhere near as pro now. She asks, I usually say the truth.

I hope she can be positive, or at least not crazy hardcore negative. Asked her if she could. She said, aw, you know I can't do that. So this should be interesting.

I had tried doing this with the old lady a bit. She had shown me her book, I eventually showed her my thing. She was actually pretty wowed, which was nice. So I used her as someone to check in with, although that wasn't explicitly known to her. Wasn't long after that she vanished again.

So now I got what is arguably my worst enemy, the person who basically effed up the real me way back in the day, now as my number one confidant in helping to try and bring that person back.

Oh well, at least I won't be double-teamed anymore.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I try to talk her into doing her own thing.

She tells me of other ideas and inventions and shit her and her friends have discussed. "You know how kids always seem to be able to get into where their parents keep their gun, locked or not? One of the guys I worked with thought of how about a gun that only fires if the fingerprint of the person pulling the trigger is a match to the owner's?"

Uh, I'm pretty sure they already have that. Seen it in movies, at least. But that's not deflating, it's actually still inspiring. Imagine what Mr. Gun Fingerprint Man is making!

She tells me one of her own. "You know those thingamajigs that they can use to locate your car when it's been taken? I was thinking of something like that for kids..."

Uh, that sounds good too! I tell her that it might be something already out there, but it's neato though. "They have them now for pets!" she laughs.

At this point I'm kind of in wonder at all these gillion dollar prospects my MOTHER is busting.

Her next notion however is a whopping flying turd, some sort of device to measure the speed and distance of a car behind you on the freeway that then flashes a "You're tailgating" light if it's too close. Uh, I'm pretty sure most tailgaters know what they're doing, and that's a whole lot of scientific machinery to just basically double as a brake light. Heh, holy crap that one sucked...

I tell her my own gillion dollar idea, an infomercial type thing. I think it might be pretty damn worthwhile too, but you'd need to put some money into creating the product and such. She says she hasn't really heard of something like it... well, she does, but she compares it to those cardboard shirt folder thingies that retailers use, which isn't what I was describing AT ALL.

Sigh. She's totally not interested in my deal. Hmph. See if I care about yours then.

-------------------------------------------

We switched to the dinner table to eat and continue. It is there she reveals that Dad is waay loaded. Or at least he should be.

She says that his parents left him an inheritance that was bigger than hers. Which blows me away. Turns out my dad's father... was an attorney?

Goddamn, I thought he was poor growing up. I mean, I knew the Bronx was better off back in his day, but I still thought it was a place for lower-income folk.

I thought that's why he was so stingy with money, he was afraid of winding up in the friggin poorhouse again!

Oh no. And it turns out his parents, they had this wealthy friend with no more family around. This friend got sick, so they took care of her. When she died, she left them everything.

Each of his parents kids (3), got 400 grand.

Now that's 400 grand in the 70s. So if he's invested wisely, that should be a very solid pile. She figures... $2 mil now?

That's the leap.

Mom has no problems making it. She's thought he's been hiding a fortune away for years. She never opened up about the reasons why before.

I always told her don't plan on it. But could he really lose THAT much? He made a bunch of safe, solid investments for her parents. He's not crazy wild with his stock market play. Very conservative, I would still say.


Thing is she has absolutely no idea of what he has. Early on in their marriage, he had asked her for a loan, to cover some stocks he had bought on margin that went bad. She said, alright, as long as you don't buy on margin again. He agreed. Awhile later, she finds him doing what he said he wouldn't.

So he cut her out of the loop entirely. And she let it happen.


Earlier in our discussion, she had surprised me. She talked divorce. You may know that divorce is a no-no in the church. I always figured if she was going to pry herself free, it's just be through a married-but-separated deal.

But no. She jibberjabbered about it like it was a real possibility. I had always figured if she would threaten that, REALLY threaten it, she could've gotten so much more her way around here. I thought that wasn't something she could legitamitely put on the table.

And you know, after forty years [in June], I would wager it isn't.

So that's how the Big Discussion went. I pulled a rabbit out my ass and lived to fight another day, and all was peaceful once again.

Hmm. Over a week behind.

I'm thinking maybe I'll just post this week's stuff on the corresponding days of next week. I'm figuring I won't have nearly as much I'll want to jibberjabber about then, probably can get away with a week's summary at the end better than trying that with this one. Which would be way, way, way long.

Of course I always think there will be nothing I'll want to write about, then I'm hit with non-stop epics.

And yeah, I'm wondering if I should stop doing this. It'd make a whole lot of sense.

There will almost be cutbacks, at least. I know, I know. First the economy, and now this. These are some tough-assed times.

-------------------------------------------

Ok, so I believe I left off on April 15th. Sitting in my room, waiting to be called out to the kitchen table by the anal interrogator with nothing but a very flimsy outline in my head as to how I would respond to the most basic of inquiries.

Like I said, the reckoning did not present itself in the predictable ways. I was blindsided. By something I was concerned about, sure, but didn't figure would jump up on me THAT DAY.

Phone rings. Mom's company name flashes on the phone sceen. Optimism springs a bit. The guy she had interviewed with had said that he'd get in touch with her probably around the end of the week... nothing Friday, Monday, or Tuesday. Figured maybe the possibility of her returning to work was dead in the water.

But ooh, I wondered if it was still possible as I heard her pick up? That kind of shit can usually take longer than planned, right? It's possible...

Probably not though. I figure the odds are it's a thanks but no thanks call. And the odds are that in the upcoming weeks or days that is eventually going to lead down an ugly road.

Days or weeks my ass. Seconds.


She's not off the phone for a minute before she tells me the bad news. And coming into my room to have a talk, closing the door behind her.

Tells me quivering in fear and a bit of anger that she can no longer support me. That she doesn't have the money anymore to pay for the medical insurance-for-work around the house deal. That she actually will probably have to start charging me $200-300 room and board instead. That it's time for me to go to work.

She asks how much progress I've been making at my own thing.

I tell her.

Her anger rises. She still keeps her voice down, at least a little since Dad is working at the dinner table with the tv off, but she's pisssed. Lot of guilt explodes in my direction. How could you do that to me.

I do feel awful. But while I do, I don't beat myself up nearly as much as I used to. If I could fix this all by myself, I probably would have I figured. Not all my intentions are pure, but some are. I mean, I'm ALWAYS planning on beginning. Those aren't the intentions of an asshole. I do still feel awful. Which still plays in to my freezing.

I just keep putting it off. Because I can. Or at least believe I can. And look at the track record, I've been 100 percent correct in that assessment.

So far.


I was preparing for an earthquake and suddenly I'm in the eye of a hurricane instead. I'm a little off-balance at how things shook out.

Mom continues to berate me. Lots of guilt-inducing stuff. Maybe causes are excuses, but I notice that this time around that this is the voice in my head that is all too familiar.

That, and it really does nauseate me now that when I was growing up that I was the focus of what the hell was wrong with the family. Bullcrap. These people needed a whole fuckload of help, or at least dedicated THEMSELVES to fixing all their shit waaaaay before I started needing to. Before their goddamn fungus spread and infected me. At least I'm TRYING to tackle my major issues.

Mom gets more and more lathered up. What's really freaking me out is I can hear her voice all over the goddamn house, and Dad is sitting out there, closer than usual, not watching any stock market coverage. She doesn't want him to hear, but considering the level of quiet, I'm quite dubious she's succeeding.

She has to go out there and do some tax stuff. "When I get back, I want you to have a plan to tell me about what you're going to do next..." WTF? A whole new life sketched out in a few minutes? When I can't even think straight? Uh... I sit there wondering what to say for a minute or two before I pfffft the notion entirely.


Comes back. She's a little more calmer. Realizes that that may have been a little too much to ask. Or my compromise is good enough. "Can we talk about this when Dad goes to Vegas on Sunday?" I almost whisper.

She considers for a second, then agrees. "But I want you to have something on paper to show me. A goal list or something. Not just some dreamy notions of what you want to do."

She continues, her anger lessening, looking around my room. "Do you want this to be your universe for good? I know I wouldn't."


A few minutes later, I jujitsu her real good. "So what are you planning on doing now, now that this is your universe again?" I smile.

She says she doesn't know. We start talking more friendly again. "On the phone the day she got canned from work, you mentioned us going into business together. Did you have an idea?"

I must say... I was actually surprised at the quality of her answer. She says how at work once she had to write a letter about somebody who kicked the bucket they all knew. She got a lot of good comments from that. Someone said she should help people do that kind of thing for a living. That stuck with her.

Now it didn't sound like the perfect idea to me. I had some questions. But it sounded pretty fucking novel. Wow. Maybe there is something to this, or would lead to another promising idea.

I was kind of blown away. I used to watch this show all about entrepeneurs and the host would say everybody has that small voice in them that if they follow it will lead them to gillions. It's the same concept in many a spiritbird teaching.

I've had a tough time swallowing it. At least the notion that EVERYBODY'S got it. Because of people like my mom, who aren't really all that creative, and seem to be unable to really see any way past their current level of reality. She's your typical, salt of the earth, middle class laborer. aka stuck in a box.

But this idea... not so boxy.

I jujitsued her again, but the intention behind it was almost entirely pure of heart. Started talking to her about it, asking her questions. Maybe I could help her do this? What are you going to do instead, just clean every day for the rest of your retirement?

While she was excited, I could tell there wasn't really much of a chance of her following through with this. She's unable to venture from outside the box. Only to dream about it, sometimes.

------------------------------------

Friday: nauseous in the aftermath (she was still way pissed), but still trying to formulate the plan I'm set to present, completely unable, especially with Daddio late with my taxes and way more unsure now of what could develop on that front too. How much did he hear?

Thought he'd get have em done early, since there isn't much there. Nope. Puts like 4 to 6 hours into them. Had to sit there twisting in the wind all day.

Went off without a hitch again.

Tuesday, I can't remember all that happened. I know Mom and Dad went nuclear on each other. Some other shit I think, but all has faded.


On Wednesday, The Hammer was finally lowered.

And not how I thought it would be. Hit me in the back of the head as I was bracing for a shot that seemed might be on its way from the front.

Everything's a mess right now. And since Dad procrastinated so long, I had to wait until after the deadline for him to get to mine. Got to sit and stew for another day.

I feel like hell. Not so great sleep, limited eating. Not because I couldn't on the latter, but because I felt like such a burden.

An evil burden.

I pick up that paper.....

It's a page of instructions going to the post office to get Bro's tax return weighed to see if it has enough postage, and getting my interest posted.

Both things that don't bother me much. The post office has a weighing machine out front. I don't have to go in and grabass at all like he wants me to. If Bro's returns need extra postage, I'll just say they didn't and buy them in the machine myself. Easy breezy.

And reporting interest, fuck... it took me this long to figure out how to add up the right numbers on my updated passbook so I don't have to harrass a bank teller to add them up for me like he always asks me to? Sheesh. That and I got a check from Christmas from a relative to cash, I've been waiting all this time to make the trip extra-worthwhile.

Plus these kinds of social situations I'm way more comfortable with these days. Interacting with people who don't know who the fuck I am. Way easier breezier than I remember it being.

Dad of course, complicates things. Somehow gets me pissy at a time when I'm so friggin vulnerable and kissing his ass 24/7.


He's going downtown. [Oh, there was no enjoyment of that wondrous small window of free time. Instead I cleaned the bathroom and helped Mom clean the kitchen counters. WOOHOO!]

Anyway, he's taking Mom's car there. He had told me to go around 10:30 to the post office. Guess when he's leaving? My counting on being able to use an actual vehicle, torn asunder.

Blechh.

Luckily, Mom asks him if I can take it. He says no, but then... he's actually cool enough to let me wait until 1 to go, after he gets back??? Woah.

My love for him builds once more, even higher than it was.

When he returned, I was cursing his dickness again.

"Don't use the weighing machine out in front..." he says as he leaves the keys on my bed. "Go in and get on line, have them do it."

GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! I thought I had done some weighing myself of something of his before. Unfortunately I had told him about it. Now I have to either [a] lie, or [b] make a simple errand about five times longer and more complex than it should be.


Fortunately [I guess], it all worked itself out. The fucking weighing machine wasn't working. So I had to get in line, which started at the very back of the post office.


Bank was easy. I never mentioned that it was one that was seized by the FDIC a few months back. 60 Minutes did a story on how they do those takeovers. They just kinda spring up on the bank without it knowing after it closes on a Friday, almost like a robbery.

Was a ghost town in there. I wondered if it was just a slow day or people moved there accounts out.

Anyway. I enjoyed doing the errands, in an operational car. Returned home, reported the amount, no big deal. Smiley.

Phase 2, complete. And I was pretty sure I could rest easy for awhile, since Daddio was focused on his own taxations.

Another day or two, then I'll be up.

Easter Sunday. We're having dinner as a complete family and such.

Mom asks about Bro's roommate. He tells her he got hired back at the old place he used to work.

"He's the one with no life, right?" she says. "I feel so bad for him.

Warning alerts going off in my head. DANGER DANGER


The guy was out of work for like six months. He spent most of it on the computer, smoking pot [Mom don't know about that detail], and gambling online.

So basically his life was way better than all of ours.

But the chill up my spine knows that's not how its interpreted. He didn't have no job. Sitting on the computer all day. Sounds like someone I know.

It really appears she has no awareness of the similarities. Out of the corner of my eye, I look at Dad. Wondering if he's picking up on it. Or hell, maybe he's feeling a little weird too. Dude is gambling, after all.

There's one other critical detail though. The guy has no family either. Again with the awesomeness. On Christmas Mom made up a dish for him.

It all passes. Bro leaves. He had come early for dinner to watch a movie. But he spent all that time, doing taxes.

--------------------------------------

Dad seems all depressoed and pissed that night. Before his poke, he asks me The Question.

I answer.

Doesn't seem to phase him. No followups. Asks me to go get my interest posted to my bankbook the next day.

I don't sleep. Just because the questioning is out of the way doesn't mean I'm out of the woods. He could ask more stuff when I'm out there filling out stuff. Or before.

Finally drop off a little bit, then Daddio comes into my room for something at two in the morning.

Gets me more worked up.

I wake up. Christ, it's the final stretch. Barfy, barfy mornings here we go...

I sit up out of bed, put on my socks. Looking over towards the computer, I notice what isn't the same.

Dad hadn't come in for something the night before. He had left a piece of paper for me to read. A full page of instructions.

I walked over to see what they were.

So yeah, maybe you've realized that I haven't written much about tax freakouts this year.

It's been gettin at me a little bit. But I still sleep through the night, although I've been having way more nightmares. Still can eat.


When Daddio made Bro bring over tax stuff a month or so ago, after I got a little worked up I caught myself. Bro sayin yeah, like he's going to get to it early. I figgered true dat. It was too early to worry.

Then I remembered, shit, he used to get started like a MONTH or two ahead of time. I was always wondering, Jesus, what the hell takes him so long when I took G-ma to get her taxes done and the accountant would git r' done in ten minutes?

That's not happening this year. And strangely enough, here we are six days from the deadline and I haven't seen him ONCE working on em.

I guess because there are no stock profits this time around. I assume that's the major source of his fenagaling.

But still... he does the forms in light pencil, then traces over em in pen. He's got THREE to do at some point. I think he makes copies as well. He may be procrastinating. Or maybe he's forgetting?

I've had my periods where I get a little too blech this time around. And there is a constant bigger blechhh feeling than usual underneath everything, for the past couple weeks, sure. But it's much more manageable. A powerful dreading still, that's kept better in check.


Still no Question busted.

I really should probably be more freaked out. Since I haven't been I don't feel I've adequately prepared for the possibile outcomes of the exchange. To review, it's not just an 'aw shit, feel terrible about myself' moment. It's a delicate situation where if he just asks a couple of reasonable followup questions I could be in a real pickle.

I've figgered I'll go with a sorta-truth if he presses. That I'm starting something new. So hey, I didn't earn much of anything from my old stuff, being hard times and all.

I still haven't come up with a figure in my head if he asks for one. Can't lowball it too much. Then again it's hard to say anything over a couple hundred bucks without feeling crazy foolish.

But I don't think he'll press. I think he probably knows there's nothing there. Otherwise how do you explain how that never gets found by Mr. Anal Interrogator, annually, besides voodoo?

He likes having his paper fetcher, his post office runner, his sprinkler turner-offer too much I say. That sounds like a crazy bet for most, but those kind of things would really add a whole lot more blech to his life.

What's been settling me some is that he's giving no indication that he's gearing up for some confrontation with me. Well, for the most part. Sometimes I see him and he looks blown-out depressed and pissed, but that's just been his usual about other stuff. His mood always comes back to cheery and chatty, talkin basketball with me just like friends.

Then again, a couple innocent followup questions to The Question can lead down an ugly road that he's not really expecting.

Coming down the home stretch now. Stress ratcheting up a bit more. I'm hoping I'm not sent on my unneccessary bank errand to find out my interest earnings until Monday. Usually that and the Question go hand in hand.

The other shit that's going down probably would've sent me into a tizzy in earlier years. Mom unemployed, plus at home to hear the exchange go down, see me write out the dreaded statement of failure Daddio makes me do every year. One year it took place on a weekend, she saw it and started freaking a bit.

That was long ago. I think she won't now. She's more up to speed about everything.

But that of course is certainly no checkmate reason to bet against that happening.

Wednesdays seem like bad days for bloggin now. I believe I've missed a couple before this last one.

It wasn't a scheduled miss again. Moms wanted to write all her friends at work about her jury duty experience.

On Saturday she told my bro that when she parked there the first day she just sat in her car and started bawling. Bro was surprised. Which surprised me. "You're usually so strong..." he said.

Um, yeah. About some things. Outwardly, anyway. Driving? Not so much.

I wonder between her and me who has the least confidence. I think I have a tinge more. Despite her having way more driving experience. I don't freak out as much, pretty sure.


Getting used to having her home. Kinda like it, in a sense. It ain't all bad. I don't feel outnumbered. In some respects. And like I said her motor puts me much more on edge than Daddio, although it ain't no blowout.

Her big project for the past two days was steaming the kitchen floors. Loud bisssssh noises, her radio on. As Daddio watched his stock market. Wondered if she was trying to force him out. No luck if that was the case.

Wonder what's in store today. She's supposed to get on here at 10 to answer emails from all those friends. After that, who knows.

Couple days ago she went to church. That was nice. I was trying to figure out what the holiday was. Super Tuesday?

She's watching a movie about Jesus now. Because "Today's Holy Thursday and I should go to church tonight, but I'm not."

Holy Thursday's not required holyrolling, is it? I have no idea. Pretty sure no.


Blogging late today cause I had to type up an email from Daddio to his Mormon ballpark friend. He actually came in Sunday night after I went to sleep with it, said he was leaving it on my chair to type up in the morning. Aw. When I got up, it weren't there no more.

Pretty sure he's been waiting for stocks to go up big once more, like they did this morning, so his predictions look more awesome.

Which is funny. The dude had wrote him back one time, Dad had missed the email. I saw it, but it's not like I was gonna print it up to give myself more silly work. Opened her up though, and the dude made some jokes about the accuracy of his predictions.

That almost persuaded me to show him.

He now expects a big fat market swol up until around Memorial Day. You've been warned.

Daddio didn't harrass Bro about home ownership when he came by this weekend. Instead about some tax stuff that seemed entirely logical.

Fairly shocking.


Mom's interview seemed to go well yesterday. Kept her on for over half an hour. They said they'd probably let her know by the end of the week.

I go out to the front to get my lunch and gab a little about the stock market with Daddio, he's got the tv muted, trying to listen in on the phone conversation going on in my room.

There is a kink to this new job. Contrary to what one person or two said in the chain, it doesn't seem like a "perfect" fit for her. She would be doing a good deal of stuff she hasn't done before. So it looks like less of a slam dunk.


While Bro was jibberjabbering with Daddio, he asked the question on everybody's lips. "When's your next trip to Vegas?"

Much better coming from him, as he receives no benefits, only car sacrifices.

He said after taxes are done he'll probably be going. Between the 15th and the 30th, he estimated. Oh sweet music!

Bro said he really should have the brakes worked on again before he leaves. So that's like an extra day there.

Ugh. Then it hits me. Mom could still be here. That will just make his absence worse in many respects. I'll be forced to participate in a cleaning orgy.


It seems like what I want requires too much perfection. For life to be restored to moderately awesome for a pinch Mom's got to get hired on at the end of the week, then told to come in to train and stuff the next.

Maybe there's a week or two leeway there. I'd like to have the car repair day to myself too. Oink oink.

Pray for me.

---------------------------------------

Yesterday Mom said that since we'd be rained in today, I should probably vacuum the back rooms while she steams the kitchen floors.

I usually do the vacuuming. At the end of the day. But it appears she wants a cleaning buddy to do it within the same kinda time frame as her.

Either that, or she's nudging me to do it. I missed a scheduled one the past couple weeks. Not that it's entirely my fault.

Like most of my house doodies, vacuuming drives me nuts. There is literally, at best, a timeframe of less than ONE hour per week available where nobody is out in the front watching tv. And that less-than-an-hour falls on Monday, where if I'm lucky Daddio will poke, and she stays true to her program and goes to exercise after work.

Now that she was home, that less than an hour ain't there.


Yesterday afternoon, baseball opening day. Sigh. Dad stays out front to watch the tv.

Didn't matter really. Now that Mom's not going to exercise from work, she was set to leave here at 5:15. A little too late to match up with Daddio's schedule really, I think.

She comes in my room. Tells me Dad's in the back, then says he's asleep.

Woohoo. This will be the friggin closest thing I've had to "alone" in a while. Ahhhhhh. I start relaxing already.

And oh man, dinner, all by myself! No either trying to converse with deaf strangeman or sit there and baste in the hateful silence of them two.

Then... ugh. My conscience kicks in. It's Monday. Since he's in the back, you really should do the vacuuming out front. The appearance of the house is much more important than enjoying yourself, after all.

Takes Mom a few extra minutes to leave of course, as I planned to do the quickest vacuuming ever. Twenty minutes.

I ahhhhhhhhhhhhh in the sweet aloneness.

The back bedroom door creaks open. He's up, asking for dinner.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr, he almost always stays down longer once he's logged off like that back there.

I guess the vacuum woke him up.

Mom got off the jury deal on Friday.

Defense asked about her political affiliations. What kinds of causes she supported. Ergo, dismissed.

So yay, she's... home now.

She's got a phone interview scheduled with the job prospect this morning at 10:30. Let's hope that goes well.


In the meantime, I woke up. Saw her finished eating breakfast, hurried to get into the bathroom first. No water pressure. She's washing closes.

Gulping at the drops from the faucet as I brushed my teeth. Showering in a pee stream of different temperatures. None of which made the bathroom warm enough so that when I shut the water off I wasn't shivering my ass off.

Was about to clean the bathroom floors already, until she realized her favorite religious lady was coming on the tv.

Yesterday afternoon as she was hanging up clothes she remarked to me, "I don't have the energy I used to anymore... makes me so mad somtimes."

Wooh, thank god for old age.


In a startling coinky-dink, a little later Dad came out while she was washing the kitchen floors and said, "You didn't have the energy to come out today and tell me where the washcloths were?"

I very much doubt he heard her before. He was poking. Even if he could hear through walls, he gets lost in the zone, man. And even when he's not in the zone he's totally oblivious to all that goes on around him.

He had left her a note Sunday morning. "Where do you keep the WASHCLOTHS now?" When I saw it I didn't think it was a huffy note. He capitalizes things all the time, to make extra sure people get the point.

A washcloth was under the note. Meaning Mom had gotten one out for him and put it right in front of his face.

Apparently he had expected her to go the extra mile, have that extra energy and go find HIM to tell him their new location, instead of him finding her to ask the all-important question.

They were in the same damn closet they always were. A shelf or two up.

She's cleaning the bathroom floors today because Daddio was sittin out in the front all day long.

Religious program's over. She's now not ten feet from me, conservative talk radio blaring. Soon to be some loud machinery noise.

They're now yelling at each other. Dad trying to coach her on this morning's interview. To have info in front of her for it.

Barks she's got a spreadsheet full of stuff. And that she'll be on the computer for the interview. That's interesting news.

I don't care if you believe in God or not, you're prayin like hell she gets this job.

I was on phone duty yesterday, in case le job offer called.

They did. Well, they emailed. Said for her to give em a call. She called the house to check in, gave her the message, she was going to get in touch with them on her lunch break.


Took her a long time to get home. She was leaving in the rush hour traffic, not three-four hours before like the first day. Gulp. Positive vision...

Shows up in one piece around 6. Falls asleep right away, so I have to wait for the details.


She has to go back again today, they're still in the panel doing the selecting process. Sounds like she's gonna be selected. Her tales of being affected by gang violence weren't as bad as everybody else's. She said everyone had an ugly story.

She called the new job guy. Said he said that he has something that she'd be "perfect" for. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a slam dunk to me.

They still have to set up an interview. Told her to call her back after her doody is over with to schedule.

Sounds good.

------------------------------------------

Dad in my room early to use the computer. Then Mom.

Go in the bathroom. On the counter, another page-long set of instructions from Daddio for her. Pissy ones.

Says she should raise her hand when they ask if anybody in your family is in law enforcement, tell them her father-in-law was a lawyer. He wasn't.

I don't know. I guess everybody tells stories to try and get out. All taken as fact on a pinky swore. You'd think they check people out every so often so it would have teeth. I've never really heard of that happening, in that phase at least.

Then the note says she should raise her hand when asked if anybody's been affected by gang violence and tell them about how when my brother was a teen he and his friends got into it with a gang at a McDonalds, got hit in the head with a pipe, had to go to the emergency room.

True story. But she already told it herself, so she's on the ball. I actually wouldn't have recalled that. Me and him weren't too close then. Not mortal enemies at all, but not nearly as love dovey. I can't remember my reaction for certain, but I'm almost sure it wasn't too powerful.

I do remember when he got shot at in my car after another fast food skirmish in a drive thru.


I doubt Bro will be visiting this weekend, since someone will be jumping on his back as soon as he comes in the door wanting to know how his instructions were carried out this week.

God.

Mom came home from jury duty early. 'round 1.

All freaked out. She had gotten lost on the way back. The L.A. traffic.

Then the screaming match began. A real good one.


Daddio giving her instructions on everything. Email the senior veep again. Write up a letter for the judge saying you can't serve.

'splosion.

All three times he harrassed her to talk, she was in the bathroom. And it only took one door knock asking if she was free to get it going.


Earlier in the day his advice seemed awesome. I say how she'll probably tell the judge about her situation. "They won't care about that... she should tell them that her father-in-law is sick..."

Uh... isn't that perjury? Maybe that sounds like an anal response, but don't you think a whole bunch of people try to bust excuses like that? Maybe they look into that kind of thing sometimes to try and keep people honest?

I don't know for sure. I bet he definitely doesn't know for sure. Yet he's always the wise man.



As they tore into each other I got shit low. So tired of her having to live this way. All freaked out from the drive, then coming home to him to make everything feel ten times worse.

Blamed him for awhile. Then it was close to equal.

For the love of Christ, get out of this ridiculousness already.

You'd think by how agitated I get by Daddio, that if I had a choice between the two being around all day, I would select my mother.

I just wrote "Oh no" and then erased it. Let's say it'd be a very difficult call to make.

Sure, my father is rather disturbing to be around. And when I'm not tiptoeing around him I've got to run his errands.

That said, he's not all that bad, if the aim is to get something done. He sits out in the front room, the tv volume only slightly audible from here. He doesn't even come in to visit that often anymore. Enough to still keep me on my toes, but I guess I finally put out a vibe that said please let me have some space.


Mom burst in around 15 times yesterday. That is not an exaggeration. It could possibly be a bit low.

Now that she's waking up around the same time as me, she's in the bathroom when I would be. And it's not like she could just enjoy her one day off. She can't shut off that motor. Needing to clean, clean, clean, with her heavy feet marching all around and conservative talk radio blaring.

Summoning me to take out her trash. Get up on a ladder and take out the filter screen for the furnace so she could wash it. Then put it back again. Get her driving directions down to jury duty.

If she doesn't get the new job, man. Although she did start apologizing after visitation #10 or so, so maybe she'll be cooler.

Or I'll be roped into assisting in all sorts of cleanup projects that take up entire days.


This morning the house is back to calm. She was up early for jury duty. Ahhh.

I feel bad about feeling relieved. I can't really find myself hoping that she's selected for a case. She's all nervous about the helldrive down there. She would really hate it, and she's really, really hoping that she only has to show for that one day. So it's very hard to route for.

Well, for that reason and because a trial might get in the way of the scheduling of an interview for that new job.