Saturday, June 25, 2011

Day whatever it is--More Tears and Exhaustion

So I had planned to get up today and run a few errands.  Three to be exact.  I was going to go to Old Navy to buy my daughter two dollar tank tops, Costco because my mom needed to pick up some things, and back by the City's Health and Wellness Center to buy a membership for me and my daughter.  I had been trying to get these things done but had written them off over the last few days because I was tired and felt bad.  Aside from my normal achiness and exhaustion, I've got some sort of sinus ickiness going on.  I know myself well enough to know that I needed to trap myself into going, so I asked my mom if she would go with me.  There is no telling my mother no, and I knew that when I asked her to go with me.

So what did I do to ensure my success this morning?  Does taking a Zyrtec last night count?  Because I didn't take anything for the incredibly nasty overabundance of mucous I have going on, and i didn't go to bed on time either.  So when it was time to get up, not only did I have my normal "feel like being dragged along by a moped" feeling, I was working a "hit by a MAC truck" feeling.  I dragged my sorry ass out of bed around 9:40 (knowing we were leaving at ten, haha) to shower and dress.  I knew as soon as I hit the shower this was a bad idea.  My back was killing me, I was exhausted, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl back in bed and sleep.  But I dressed and went to sit on my mom's bed.

My mother was fixing her slipcover on her settee, talking to herself.  She always talks to herself.  A minute later she heard the jingle of Gabi's collar and cheerily sang, "I hear you!"  Then she spun around. "Oh!" she exclaimed.  "You scared me!"

I started to cry.  I cry all the time--my family is fairly used to seeing me in tears these days.

She assured me I would be okay, and we'd stop to get coffee on the way out.  Did I want to drive?

Hell no, I didn't want to drive.

Now that right there should tell you exactly how shitty I felt.  My mother is almost seventy now and drives like it, too.  She drives like she has some sort of palsy, shaking the wheel back and forth.  I was already nauseated (shocker again) but I felt so bad that was no way I was going to drive.  I'd have to risk it in Katherine Hepburn's shaky hands.

So first stop, Starbucks.  I love Starbucks.  I am addicted to Starbucks.  I like to pretend it pays me to indulge because they send me free stuff once in awhile.  Because you know, if you buy ten or fifteen five dollar drinks and you get one for free, that's an awesome value.  I try to ignore my mathematical and common sense abilities when I drink at Starbucks.  I know people who get drunk for less than it costs to indulge at Starbucks.  And God forbid I take my kid.

So I got my grande iced mocha and a piece of coffee cake.  Don't ask why I got the damn cake.  I don't know.  Because I could and I wanted it.  My mother still can't order at Starbucks.  She just reads something off the menu and hopes it tastes good.  If I'm with her she always says, "I'll have what she's having."  So they gave her an iced mocha too, and she wanted to sweeten it with splenda.  Uh, too late, mom...they put in a shitload of chocolate syrup.  Oh, she said...uh, okay, this isn't what I got yesterday...

I don't doubt that a bit.

Old Navy was already about out of their tank tops.  I got four in basic neutral colors for my daughter.  Then we went to kinko's.  I sat in the car counting people going into the new restaurant while my mom went to have two posters made.  Six people entered 'HIBACHI GRILL SUPER BUFFET'.  The building was huge.  I wondered if the super buffet lived up to its name.

Finally Costco.  I had already downed my coffee.  It figured.  Whenever I get a venti I never finish it, and whenever I get a grande I suck it down like a camel in a desert.  I also try to kid myself that it's not bad for me.  See, I get lowfat or nonfat milk and no whipped cream, so clearly the sugar and calories in the chocolate syrup count for nothing.  And we're not talking about the coffee cake, that was still sitting in my purse untouched.  And because I was dizzy, sore, exhausted, and lightheaded, my mother had to forget her costco card.  She started in to her routine lament-"Dammit, I left my card at home!"

Then I always say, "Calm down, can go to the service desk."

And then she says, "Will that work?"

And I say, "Yes...remember last time?"

So we get the copy of the card and put the things we need in the cart.  I sampled a few things while there. A meatball with teriyaki sauce, a salmon burger, a peach, some sorbet, a taste of acai berry juice.  The meatball was good.  The peaches weren't ripe.  I didn't care enough about the other stuff to note it.

I went to sit down while my mother wandered the rest of the store.  I'm always fascinated by the people who make their way to Costco at lunch time.  My cousin used to joke that he'd go at lunch to do his shopping because he got a free lunch of samples as he shopped.  I guess if the samples are scarce on a given day, you can stop and order the hot dog and drink for a buck-fifty.  I remember when my dad would pull that on us--make us go to the store under the guise of buying us lunch, and lunch was a hotdog and drink at Costco.  Is that thrifty or just damn cheap?

Finally we finished the errands and came home.  I grabbed a few things to go inside.  I think I left my mother talking to her car.  I'm not really sure.  Like I said, she talks to herself, so what do I know?

I cried in the car and I cried when I got home.  Pain and fear are the worst parts of this illness.  Everyone keeps saying "You have to make yourself fight it."  Okay.  Let me karate kick you in the lower back, yank your arms out of their sockets, keep you up half the night and bury your nose in superboogers.  See how you feel.

Knowing they're right doesn't help.  I have to figure out a way to get up every day, get dressed, and go DO something.  ANYTHING.  Even if I don't want to.  It's hard and I don't like it.  I don't like it at all.

Boogersnot.  Bleah.

No comments:

Post a Comment