So, maybe you heard my mom went into the hospital a few weeks ago. Maybe you didn't. If you didn't, you probably missed my implosion into Swear like a Sailor mode on Facebook, which, let's face it, may be for the best.
But . . . I have moved into a new level of navel-gazing the last few weeks, and Facebook's required brevity (I know, right, "brevity"? Oh, you have no idea how long I can go on) isn't quite right for me right now. My level of snark has gotten, well, darker and weepier.
I have hit that place of life that most children go though: the part where you have to start trying to help care for your parents.
So this feels like a new level of the journey, a new misadventure for all of us, if you will, because today my kids got to watch me cry while I drove a car to see Grandma and then do it again when I drove home from Grandpa's.
I have a new, great job, and I do not want to fuck it up. But my head is such a mess with all of this family stuff that I tried to separate myself from a very long time ago. So, I need a place to put it, and, tag, you're it.
If you read this and you know me, please don't try to talk to me about this and don't try to email me about this and try to Facebook me about this. If you must, comment on here, but I just need it to be here, to live here, so I don't have to let it live other places.