Esther where have you been?

A friend (ok… Jennifer L! – Hi Jennifer! See? I am blogging!)   Wrote me this little email asking me a few questions about how I manage to juggle all of my pursuits.   

This is one of those posts where I think my children will find this after I am dead and gone….and….. understand why they did not develop a work ethic from me. 

JL:  you have a blog  -  EstherAvery:  I haven’t looked at it since january

 
JL: you have facebook  - EstherAvery: this requires the attention span of a gerbil – you probably have the attention span of an adult human and this makes it unappealing to you. 

JL:  you have email – EstherAvery:  again -only requires the attention span of a gerbil -

JL:  you have two children -  EstherAvery:  there by the grace of god go I

JL:  you have a job -    Esther Avery: I play a social worker on an obscure TV drama that is only aired occasionally on public access

JL:  you have a husband -    EstherAvery:  Divine Provenance

JL:  you have a house – EstherAvery:  it’s a pigsty – but no roaches, no hoarding and no mice.

Deflecting bad juju

Deflecting your psychic energy.   You call me.    I see you are calling me from Shakopee.  So. You are in jail.   Your story is that you are  “inpatient”.   You want to know what is going on.  I explain the allegation.  I explain that I have no plans to pursue the investigation because it has no bearing on your mother’s basic needs.   I say that my concern is your mother’s health care, her housing, her food and clothing.   I tell you that I think her money is being managed fairly and is being spent for her needs.   I explain that I am not going to pursue the case because I think the report was misassigned.  

I expect you to thank me.      But no.   Instead you start the angling.   Oh how I tire of the angling.  - You tell me that the payee is not paying for the storage facilityand therefore you conclude that the payee is financially exploiting your mother.   I tell you that your mom’s basic needs have nothing to do with a storage facility, even if some of her belongings are there.   I tell you that I recommended that the money manager stop paying for the storage facility.   Why?  Your mom needs all of her money  to pay for her cost of care.   You tell me that you things are in the storage facility and that you think that the payee is exploiting your mom.  I tell you that I have looked at the bank accounts and all of your mom’s money can be accounted for and that it needs to be spent for her care.   I tell you that the payee is not going to pay for the storage facility any longer.
 
You tell me to fuck off and that you are going to kick my ass when you get out of Shakopee.     Then you either hang up on me or your pay phone change ran out.  
 
 
I hang up the phone.   I am angry, humiliated.  My face is hot from flushing.  My heart rate is beating.  I am sure I am having a corticosteroid rush and free radicals are surging through my body.   I am indignant.  I tire of you – you who call under the auspices of caring about your parents.   It is so momentary and then your real agenda floats between us.  It is always, always about money, convenience or property.    I am insulted a little bit that you would even think for a minute that I would believe your bullshit story.   I mean honestly.  

I really don’t care about your belongings in a storage facility.  I am like parachuter jumping onto a moving train. A rickety moving train on a rickety old rusy track.  I am a guest in your dysfunctional play that is going to go on and on whether I am stay involved or not.   Soon I will either jump off the train or recuse myself from the cast of characters that is your life and move on to the next train wreck.   
 
I want to get rid of your psychic energy and go back to the moment in time before you called.  I was sitting quietly in my toasty house.  On my grandfather’s couch.   Writing dications and reports.  My dog is sitting at my feet.   The smell of meatloaf is in the air.   The sun is streaming in.   I am me.  I can be compassionate.  I struggle with compassion for you right now.    Mostly I feel resentful that I have let you blow my stress hormones out of whack.  
 
But writing this out helps.   I am still in my house.  I am still smelling my delicious meal for all of my family.  I am still petting my beautiful dog.   I am getting enough work done.  I am still me.   I am letting your junk float off into the universe.