Imagined alternative

Imagination is a great thing.  I can do anything and be anything I want.  I can make plans to travel on a whim, to visit friends, to climb a mountain, to sample beer and food at a Brewfest.  I can even imagine how cool it would be to fill my entire house with soap suds.  I can imagine I’ll wake up tomorrow to find that I have the energy to not only shower but to also take a walk with MC and manage to get the dishes done before they’re piled up to the ceiling and feeding mama gnat along with her entire extended family.

The not so great part of imagination?  When the line separating it from reality begins to blur.

I was warned that Harpy, my mother-in-law, will be flying in for an MC inspection in May.  After daily phone calls for five months, she can’t stand to be away from him any longer.  I feel compelled to tell her how much her nightly interrogations annoy him (and me) but that’s not my place.  About five years ago they had a falling out.  She didn’t speak to him for three months because he purchased a motorcycle even knowing how much she hates the things because they’re death with wheels.  Eventually, he met with his parents to set some rules.  She needed to stop treating him like a child and attempting to control his life.  His job was to let her know when she’s overstepping her boundaries.

That didn’t last long.  Inch by inch, she regained complete control and put his balls back in the jar on her nightstand (or wherever the fuck she keeps them, I could never find them).  I regularly remind MC that he needs to set limits with her because she’s completely incapable of regulating her own behavior.  She has gotten away with entirely too much simply because no one wants to deal with her tantrums.

Harpy will be here for eleven days.  MC suggested I catch a ride to Ohio so I don’t have to be here when she is.  Sure, if he wants to leave me alone at my parents’ house.  They’re gone for the next three months.  Before she purchased her plane tickets, I asked him if it wouldn’t be easier on everyone if he takes a long weekend and drives back to spend time with his bitch mother.  “Yeah, probably.”  As usual, he piddled around and didn’t commit to anything, and then it was too late.  First warning, she’d be here for six days.  Then she called this week to tell MC she changed her outgoing flight to stay an extra five days.

I can’t hide that long.  That’s too long.  I’m thinking about all of my options and decide it’s best if I fly to Florida to stay with John, his happy (girlfriend) and their three pups.  That sounds like a fantastic plan.  I’ll ask him if I can invite myself over for a couple of weeks.  “Sure! You can see the new house.”  Great.  All I need to do is find a plane ticket that’s only $18 since that’s all that MC left in the checking account after going on a compulsive shopping spree (I will not kill him, I will not kill him, I will not kill him).

In my mind, the only problem is the money.  Nevermind that I have four follow-up appointments every other week, dialysis all of the fucking time, and I’m not supposed to leave the area without notifying my transplant team.  Also, have I mentioned that I’m not sure why I haven’t been euthanized yet?  If I were an animal, no one would question it.  I’d be ashes in a tin on someone’s mantle.

Oh yeah, that reality thing.  I forgot that I’m not actually a normal person who can leave whenever she wants.  Shit.

She’ll be here, I’ll be here.  MC will be working normal hours and will only have to tolerate her presence in the evenings.  That lucky bastard (I will not kill him, I will not kill him, I will not kill him).  I’ll do what I always do.  Play nice, bite my tongue until it bleeds as I watch the days pass at an impossibly slow rate until the day she finally leaves.  If she leaves.  There’s no guarantee she won’t extend her stay if she happens to experience one of MC’s “bad” days.

While I’m mentally preparing myself and getting all of the anger out of my system, I’m still imagining that I’ll be flying out right before she flies in.  That I’ll be spending eleven days with people who don’t suck and mutts piled on top of me.  To be anywhere other than here, not only because of her but because of myself and the things that keep me tethered to this place.


13 thoughts on “Imagined alternative

  1. **Lurch groan** You are sure stuck between a rock and a hard place, as my dear old daddy used to say. I wish I could superhero you out of that hell. Certainly the harpy could amuse herself on base all day without you. Maybe you could just move into the dialysis joint. Not so posh, but at least SHE wouldn’t be there!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You know what I’m going to say ay … tell that bitch to piss off! It’s your home, not hers! Remember the last time you over extended You to deal with everyone else?

    People like her Never learn.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. If I were only closer. I’d put you up for as long as you wanted. Of course, you may get tired of my house. Not that it’s noisy, except when the pup decides no one should be in the house except me and Stuart. Then she barks up a storm for a while. Silly dog. Makes having people over a bit of a problem. Unless she suddenly likes them. I’m sure she’d like you. Weird thing, she likes my sister. go figure.
    I could come and tell the harpy off for you. Kick her out and tell MC to suck it up. I’d still like to kick his ass. Grow a pair will ya? Geez.
    Filling your house with soap suds. Love that vision.
    So, just let me know about the kicking ass part. DC isn’t that far away.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Christ in a Pisspot. I have enough difficulty living with my Dad (giant annoying power hungry baby) let alone if I also had another extended family member. Get a tent. Put her in the garden. Tell her it’s Rustic Hipster Chic. (Rather than Rusty Hipster Shit).

    Liked by 1 person

    • I think if I disappear, I’ll come home to a clean house. I won’t be here for her to pick on, so she’ll have nothing else to do besides laundry and cleaning. I should make a to-do list for her, the last item – ‘find a psychiatrist or drink draino, your choice’


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