the cold that elissa brought into the house has lodged itself in my vocal cords, and for the past two days, i haven't been able to manage much above a labored whisper.
consequently, i can't talk to my mother to explain to her that i really AM sick, and thus can't come see her while she continues to recuperate from her hip surgery. when katie called to explain things to her, my own mother called me a - and this is a quote - "fucking bitch."
i can't answer the children's thousand and one questions, or help libby write a compelling thesis because i can't sufficiently explain what makes one statement compelling and another not.
i can't explain to Beloved that the reason elissa had a hissy fit yesterday was because i asked for a touch of consideration when it came to scarfing down and giving out to assorted friends the snacks meg and libby buy to take to school, and that i offered her, as a reasonable alternative, an apple, a banana or a yogurt.... all far more appropriate choices than rice krispie treats and fritos for someone nearly 22 years old. i also asked her to call ME ahead if she intended to show up around dinner time as she had the night before, and that calling her father isn't giving sufficient notice to the one who cooks and plans the meals. elissa can't deal with any kind of structure, and interprets all requests for consideration for someone other than herself as an affront against her soul. in short, she behaved like the 2 year old she is emotionally. she got stuck at two because her parents dont know how to say no to her, and the reason she doesn't like me is because NO is one word i've always been able to say to a bratty kid. and mean it.
needing to choose what words i do speak has made me even more hypersensitive to the uses of language than i normally am - which, even on my duller days, is pretty keen. hence, when a friend gave me a sample of a spray to "get me off her back" but was "honored" to do something else for another friend... it stung. but i was forced to resort to email to say anything at all.
it is times like these when i wonder why anyone would want to willingly prolong the agony of living one moment longer than absolutely necessary. the end...in hamlet's words... is indeed a consummation devoutly to be wished. but i apparently have made a bargain and it appears there's no escape. yet.
but there is respite. and this time, i get to flee... for a few days and maybe the last time...into the arms of the only person whoever had an iota of a clue.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.