Lots going on under the skin:

I am still worried, concerned about my mother who is seemingly doing well, is as feisty as ever and as critical as always. She said, in a recent chat at her apartment, that it is difficult to deal with some of the people at her residence as some display senility, and others are sometimes rude (don’t want to engage in conversation in the dining room or ask inappropriate questions). She now takes a book or magazine down when she eats.

And then: I sent a text to the aide mentioning that I didn’t think I could make it on Thursday and it wasn’t until almost ten minutes later that she mentioned that the building was “in lock-down.” I’m thinking, “what is this, a school?” What the hell? But apparently they were under siege. Some kind of virus was lurking all over the building, residents were asked to stay in their rooms and meals (if they could eat) would be delivered. Wow, just like Carnival Cruises except this one was adrift in the middle of a landlocked neighborhood in a New York City borough.

I am glad I was able to put off visiting. I am often tired, unable to get up in the morning because despite the fact that my mother seems to be well situated–for now–I am kept awake by the thought and fear that she will have to be moved again by virtue of the fact that her finances are draining. Then I second guess myself by asking whether I should have shown her the assisted living place that might have been a better alternative (the one that doesn’t allow wheelchairs). Look, I just don’t know. I am so tired of making decisions, of second guessing, of being surprised by strange animal illnesses. I am tired of the cold, the Winter, the inability to sleep and then the inability to wake up; I live in a paradox and I just want plain old boredom and tuna-noodle casserole.

My kitty, Ampersand, Play’s brother, is languishing at the vet’s. He is stressed and exhausted from dealing with a strange eye infection. I visit him and all the animals. I watch them leave, I watch him stay. His face is crusted with the gook of eye discharge and the goop of eye ointment. If anyone tries to wash his face he, the cat that never hurt anyone, never scratched or bit, whacks the gauze out of the technician’s hand. One vet lovingly calls him “the beast.” I take it with a grain of salt: he called a baby Himalayan a bitch for squirming while he was inserting an IV. Later he kissed her on her little mushy gorgeous face and put her back in the cage.

If I were to say to my mother, “Ma, sing the song, a la Marlene Dietrich, ‘I’m Tired,” she’d belt it out, do the shimmy  and crack me up. I decided that my mother laughs more than I do and takes more in her stride. I have a lot to learn.

Here’s something for you.

Let’s go from tired to dreams. I had one early this morning. I dreamed I went to see Ampersand and he was waiting for me at the front of his cage, his face clean, his eyes bright. He was serene. He could go home. I fell into a deep restful sleep and felt everything was going to be alright.