The Great Imaginary Walk, week one

as tracked on Gmaps Pedometer.

Although I am considering changing my Imaginary Walk to the Appalachian Trail. Much cooler to do, maybe.

Hot

It is not. NOT supposed to be this hot anywhere I live.
No, indeed. Sorry, universe, but I'm a heat wimp.

Catching up on the Great Sock Project

Remember, a million years ago, I told you all that my Goal was to knit a pair of socks each month? I really have been doing it. June doesn't look like it's happening, because of all this other crap going on in my life (I've been working all month on a dishcloth from Mason Dixon Knitting, a stitch a day it seems like, instead of socks.) But, here's som catching up for you:



Jaywalkers were my April socks. I knit them toe up because I'm a rebel. I love Jaywalkers, but I don't love this yarn too much. It's Opal Lollipop, I think, or is that Summer Sizzle? Something that I can't find on the web anymore. I used to have a mad yarn crush on Opal yarns, cause of the cool patterns and colors, but lately I haven't been too tickled by the way the yarn feels on my feet. But I do like these, and Hilton does too. See how helpful he is whenever I try to take a photo?



When are you gonna make some for ME? Hilton wonders.

My May socks were these, my favorite socks ever maybe:



They are from the Broadripple pattern by Rob Matyska. I stood on my head and knitted them toe up. The yarn is Socks that Rock in Blarney Stone. Sweet! If anyone ever wants to send me presents, really, any of the Socks that Rock colors are much lusted over here at the Pitt.

So, there ya go. the Sock update. If you want to see the rest of the 2006 socks, you can review 'em here.

tantrums

I had a tantrum last night, yes I did. Today I feel abashed and tender around the eyes and around the heart.

It’s my dad’s fault. I told him I was sick of the way he was acting toward my mom. He said the feeling was mutual.

me: You have no right to be sick of ME. Who gets up in the middle of the night at 3am, 5am, 6am, and takes care of mom? Who is here just about every night taking care of her PAST the time you come home from work? Who makes her sandwiches for the morning so she doesn’t bother you for food? I don’t think you have ANY right to be sick of ME.

him: I work.

me: I do too! Plus, how many times lately has she called you at work asking you to come home early to help her? NONE. She calls ME. I take care of her. You should appreciate me. You should be grateful to me. She’s your wife!

He really pissed me off. There’s more, but it’s getting my blood pressure all up just thinking about it. I was so mad. I told him I was tired of him taking me for granted and tired of him acting as if everything is all about HIM HIM HIM and that nobody else matters.

Poor mom, us fighting over her.

Then I went to my apartment and cried for a hour. Poor Scott, dealing with me having a mental nervous breakdown style fit.

Today I’m hiding at work trying to get some things done. I don’t want to see him, talk to him, or hear him. And I especially am rebelling because he and his special therapist think that he “deserves” a day off of caring for mom, and that my little sister Kellie and I are able to just snap to and put in even more time taking care of her. Well. Nobody has thought about how I work, how Kellie works, and how both of us WORK ON SATURDAY. So, until we can clone ourselves, how are we supposed to be two places at once? Dad’s there. He has caregiver help until dinnertime even. Sheesh.

Disclaimer: I love my mom, will help her until I collapse. But this isn’t about her, it’s about this crappy relationship I’m having with my crappy dad.

I’m tired of bitching, and you’re probably tired of reading. I’ll try for some artsy stuff tomorrow.

I wish I was doing anything, ANYTHING else

other than filling out an online social security application for my mom. Jeez.

I'm going back and forth between doing that and working on taxes. The fun and joy never ends here!

Usually, I post at night, then in the morning I regret my self exposing post, and so I delete it. I'm going to stop doing this. I feel pretty alone in a lot of things, and I worry that letting anyone else know that I actually have feelings might hurt their feelings. This problem happens when a person (me) starts to censor themselves because they realize that there are actually a few people out there in the world, one or two of you, who read this blog. And here I thought I was talking to myself.

So. Let's have a censor free week, shall we? Try it in your blog too. I bet that nobody even gets offended. I hope.

The caregiving chronicles continue. Last week, the fam had a therapy meeting with a geriatic care (am I spelling that right?) therapist who was supposedly there to help us all with our caregiving issues, but was really there to make life easier on my charming, witty, quiet and shy dad (yes, I am sarcastic) and more difficult on me. More difficult on my little sister, too, but she can take a little more difficulties in her life, I think. One of the things we talked about she dictated is that we come up with a schedule of care. Great, I say. So far the schedule has been Kerrie-Nicole-Kerrie-Dad-Kerrie-Nicole-Kerrie-Kerrie-Nicole-Kerrie-Kerrie-Dad-Dad, or something like that. (Nicole is our guardian angel paid caregiver, without whom we'd all have jumped off of the Aurora Bridge by now.) I can't even begin to tell you how exhausted I am by it. Half the time when dad's there, he won't come when mom calls, so I have to end up going over there anyway. (The commute is something like two minutes, remember?) I'm not sleeping well because I'm afraid she'll need me. When I do fall asleep, that's when she calls and needs me. What do I do? I want to take care of her if she needs it. Well, actually, I want her to be taken care OF if she needs it, and that means that it most usually falls on me lately. How can I make sure she's taken care of, but also make sure that I don't, well, go insane, have a nervous breakdown, run screaming into the desert and eat an entire chocolate cake?

I don't know how, that's all.

Little sister is taking a "shift" tonight with mom, and I sit here in a state of great confusion. Am I relaxed? Hell no. Am I resting? Um. No. Can I get some sleep I need? Nope. Why, why, why? Why if all I want is some time to relax, when I finally have it, all I can do is freak out and do everything EXCEPT relax? I expect her to call. I expect sister to come knocking. I expect all sorts of horrible things are happening without me to supervise. But, fuck it. I DO NOT WANT TO BE IN CHARGE. So, what the hell is wrong with me?

Well, part of that I answered myself at the beginning of this post. I'm doing taxes and SS applications. That's my problem, I guess. I should be reading (actually, too exhausted) or watching TV (nothing seems worth the free time) or knitting (I'm thinking too much while I do that) or sleeping (see above...should I just take an ambien?)

yeah, folks, Kerrie has some issues. Please send chocolate. Cake preferred.

Not acceptable

Dear universe,

certain things that you have been providing me with are not acceptable at all. Thank you for the place to live, for example...I do like having an apartment rather than having to live under the Ballard Bridge. BUT. My. Family. Is. Driving. Me. Nuts.

I live too close to them right now. In fact, just yell out the window and my mom can hear me. Better yet, I can hear my dad coughing and snorting and bitching about whatever it is he's bitching about. Plenty of things ruin his life, apparently, from the fact that there are dirty spoons in the sink to the fact that the world around him exists.

Anyway. That's another story. Back to me me me, because this is MY blog, after all.

I'm tired. Tired of being a caregiver, tired of being a good daughter. The thing is, everyone in my family says they're too tired to do much for my mom, so it seems like everything falls to me. Last week we were gifted with a fun family meeting hosted be a geriatic therapist, who is hanging around to supposedly help my dad deal with his caregiver stress. Yes, my dad has caregiver stress. He takes care of my mom sometimes. Or he did. This man has some serious mental problems, though. Anger is the top of the list. He's always said nasty mean things to us kids while we were growing up and he hasn't stopped. He's taken to telling my mom very mean things that I can't even repeat here, it's way too sad. Sad sad sad.

But, it's classic verbal abuse stuff, and sometimes he's wonderful to her, saying he's sorry, saying he wants her to get better, and on and on. Now, the thing is, mom hasn't been able to work, so he depends on him financially. And I am not able to help her financially. My own finances are goofy. She feels like she has to stay with him.

The thing is, I'll never be able to help her financially at this rate, because I'm ending up being her primary caregiver. I have taken on a lot of her care over the past several years, but this is a totally new level. And I never signed up for this. I suck at it. I can't help her do so many things that she needs from her husband. I have been ending up working with her for a good chunk of every day (5 hours last night), and that time is not only taking away from my work/business time, making my business suffer, but it's making me exhausted physically and mentally as well. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE MY MOM, so so much, that I'd help her until I collapse, but I also feel like this situation is just not fair. Not fair to her or to me. She's getting all this negative energy as the rest of her family is fighting over who "has" to help her, and I'm getting taken for granted and dumped on. The 5 hours might not seem like much, but make it a few hours at least every night, and usually an hour or two almost every day, and I'm putting in a lot of time doing this caregiving thing. 20-30 hours a week is a part time job. Add that to my business, which should at least be getting 40-50 hours a week, and hell. What gives?

I'll tell you what gives, since you've been so kind to read my sob story so far. The dishes piled in the sink because I don't have the time or energy for them is just the beginning. I don't read anymore. I steal knitting time when I'm boiling water or making coffee. TV? Who has time to sit still for more than 5 minutes? Sleep. Oh, yeah, that's what happens after 2-3am when I have finally be able to go to my apartment after spending the evening with my poor mom.

I do love her so much, and I hate that she ends up feeling bad about my emotional and exhausted state. I want to help her, she DESERVES to be taken care of, This is a strong good woman here. I just want to strangle everyone else who's unwilling to take on some of this responsibility, because after all, if they don't do anything, Kerrie will take care of it.

I want to rebel and run away to Mexico. Or Alaska. Or even somewhere that isn't Ballard.

But I won't. Mom might need me.

Directions

I'm going to pretend walk from Astoria, Oregon, to the Statue of Liberty. This is to inspire me to walk. Also, this is a pilgrimage in a way... not that I'm excited about the Statue of Liberty especially, but most of a pilgrimage is about the walk, not the destination. I'm going to give it a make believe try.

I have 6.1 miles so far.

My 6 miles puts me about here, noted by the orange line.

Driving Directions from 146 W Bond St, Astoria, OR to Statue of Liberty Ellis Island, 301 Park Ave, New York, NY

My long journey:



Silly, but my life needs a little silliness about now. So there.