Okay, so one of the themes of this blog (and apparently my life, since it's reflective) is cleaning my house (the other is drinking alot and eating at restaurants-since I don't cook and am a lush). Last nite, Zule went to the Oxymoronotron show, I stayed home and carpet cleaned. Why? Well, basically, my mom and sister as my birthday present gave me: "a housecleaning". My reaction: "gratitude.... embarassment...horror...shame...gratitude". This means something! My cat is the dirtiest creature in the house, followed by Sweatone, and then Dbot, Zule and I are tied for last place. I grew up with a housekeeper, so I never really learned to take care of the house, but that is no excuse. Our housekeeper when I was little, Delores, used to iron my spandex jeans into creases just to fuck with me. If I were sick from school, she'd get super pissed b/c she liked to clean the house in total solitude, accompanied only by the T.V. Then, the jeans would have creases ironed into the front. Try wearing that to high school when you have a reputation as a metal queen!
My mom let me know that my grandfather is in the hospital. He has emphysema, so I'm going to go visit him this morning. My mom, who is the strangest and coolest person that I know (writer, artist, lived in bus for four years with no plumbing until she renovated a barn to live in), said "Yeah, dad's in the hospital. Some people take vacations, he goes to the hospital for a spa".
My mom is a really interesting person. She grew up in the hills of Indiana, with 7 younger siblings, no plumbing, and a mom who was schizophrenic. When I was little, I'd outwait her at bedtime, knowing that she'd probably start drinking as soon as we were down at 8 o'clock, and I'd pop back up at about 9:30 p.m. for the good stories. Let me tell you, my mom has the good stories. Something about her mom standing above her bed with a knife in her hand, and then my mom hiding all of her brothers and sisters from her mom and waiting for her mom to go to sleep (schizophrenics don't sleep, so it was a long wait). If anyone has a reason to be a sad, my mom does. But in fact, she's probably the coolest person I know. Until I was 23, I was so worried that I would be schizophrenic and cause that much pain to my loved ones (my grandma was such a wonderful person when she was not ill, but when she was not sick- she was "flat" and tranq'ed to the gills. I did not want to live life like that). Its not genetic, but it does seem to generation skip. Read "I Know This Much Is True" by Wally Lamb. Good book on schizophrenia and loving the person who has it.