Nothing Particularly Adventurous

Save this post. One of these days when I am either sick, afflicted or infirm, you're going to need it. (Did you ever have that guy in your church? The one who prayed in the sing-song voice for the sick, the afflicted aaaaand the infirm? We did. He also threw in something about filthy luker, but I can't quite remember how that went.) Anyway. One of these days, I'll be sitting in a hospital bed grumbling and grousing and generally being an ass. Feel free to throw this in my face at that point.

Dad has never really been sick before. Oh sure, he has diabetes, but he's all health-nut-extreme-o and it's not really been much of a problem. He doesn't do being in the hospital very well. I'm about to kick his ass.

I've become a bit grouchy myself, so he's about to try and kick mine. I think this may be the only time in my life that I could beat him in a fair fight. I'll let ya know how it turns out. My mom is also a bit cabin-crazy and may run over the both of us with her wheelchair. However, she's in the old manual-transmission type chair, since there is precious little room for her motorized one, and I don't think she can catch either one of us.

Dad is currently planning some sort of tall-people class action addendum to the Americans with Disabilities Act. Everything is too short - the gowns, the bed, the toilet, his temper, the time the doctor spends with him, the amount of time he spends sleeping, the chairs and my patience. He has waxed eloquent lengthy on the subject this morning.

Have I mentioned that my worthless sibling is making the 3 hour drive to get here tomorrow? I will make the three hour drive back and go to work on Monday. I think three hours of adventure movie soundtracks tuned to brain-liquefying decibel levels while driving down solitudinous blacktop will be a good thing.

On a less whiny note, my aunt and some of her kids will be here tomorrow. I haven't seen any of them in a hundred and twelve years. We do an exceptionally horrible job of keeping up with each other in my family. We all seem to agree that if ya ain't dead, ain't no need to come see ya. I'm looking forward to visiting them and meeting a few 9-12 year old second cousins that I've never met before, without having to waste part of the visit at a funeral service.

You may remember my family reunion, which I attended this summer. It was the first one I'd been to in years - since before I got married. It was good I went. Helped me remember a few names and a couple of voices, which saved me from being totally lost while fielding phone calls from some assorted great-uncles and cousins this week. Even with their side-showish eyebrows, they are really nice people. I don't know why we don't keep in touch. (Note to self: pluck eyebrows. I'm starting to get a few of those bearded lady lookin' hairs up there, myself.)

Oh, and just so you won't think the funeral home folks are too creepy: Dad used to work there part-time. Sort of their Lurch-In-Residence. (Although, actually, he more generally resembles Herman Munster.) So, they're buddies and sent him get well flowers out of the goodness of their frigid little death-mongering hearts.

Well, I must go - he's sending me out in search of a lot of old guy paraphernalia. However, he's also requested I get him a comic book to read. There may be hope for him, yet!