The boy (25) is off at a furry con all weekend; the girl (26) just reamed my sheep about being lax on him. I blame teh interwebs.
Teh interwebs are apparently all full of people claiming that they have Asperger’s and thus should be immune to Things They Dislike, like trying to find Aspy-friendly work. She sees her brother as having embodied this attitude, which is untrue.
The girl finds fault with everything the boy does; the boy feels like he’s double teamed and that we are out to get him. Meantime, the real problem is that he’s a teenager in an adult suit. I am still parenting him, and parenting is more complex than making rules that carry consequences. The girl (who never plans to have children) can’t see that. So I have a war going on at my house all the time. She snarls when he’s here; she takes advantage of his absence by yelling at me about what a bad parent I’m being. In my opinion. she needs to open up a 20-ounce bottle of Detachment and rub it all over.
Part of this tangle is that she blames him for having been housed and fed by his father while we were off having Adventures with Homelessness, losing bunches of our stuff and being fed rice and beans every night (not our culture). Needless to say, she can find tons of compassion, support, and excuses for her well-homed (and jobless) boyfriend, so it’s not like she’s a work ethic Nazi. No, there is just something broken in her brain–she has had a hard life, and now she has a personal demon. It’s not fair. Between that, and that she offers “suggestions” in a near-snarl–it’s hard to accept her as co-parent de facto. (Mind you, she’s sweet as pie to Me. I consider her one of my best friends.)
They were both very sympathetic when I came down with one of those norovirii last weekend. I’m still fighting the residual fatigue, and this is the first writing I’ve gotten done since I semi-quit my job. (I was depressed to see a panel at Arisia entitled “Don’t Quit Your Day Job.” I was too sick by that time, which is probably just as well.)
I made the mistake of not being firm with the Arisia volunteer team that I needed a sitting job; instead, the cane got put in a corner and I was run off my feet by a gluten-free vegan (sorry, GFVs. Every one of you I’ve met has been bossy) drill sergeant barely out of her teens, meaning that her people skills were still shaky. I escaped to eat lunch and found the staff den. Wish I’d had my test meter bundle, as I was wobbly, sweaty, and nauseated. Next time I will pay more attention to self care: (I should assign myself that sentence as a punish lesson.) “No, see the cane? I’m not physically able to scamper about putting food out. At least, not for long.” *sigh* Next time. . . . While waiting for the Ride in the lobby, I had the great joy of watching the costumes. Everybody was there. from Princess Ozma to Carmen Sandiego to a patient Pyrenees in golden leather armor from the Golden Compass.
Next time it might be a moot point, because my right knee is getting replaced in two weeks, and as soon as it heals (3-4 months) I’m putting the left knee on the chopping block too. We shall see. I’ve picked up 15 pounds since losing the cardio of the walk up the hill to work, and I’d like to get out of this body. I’ve never been this fat before, and it gets in my way. I’m still just as supportive of fat acceptance as ever, but the most intimately close chapter of it has closed for the winter.
I want my body back. I’m 5’3″ and 280 lbs.
Oh yeah, I’ve heard BAD things about long-term outcomes for “the surgery” so for once my conservative PCP and I are in agreement. It will have to be dietary changes (needed for the diabetes as well) and exercise, which is where the knees come in. Wish me luck.