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11:55 a.m. | Sunday, Aug. 22, 2004
chronicals in my life So Morrison came over Thursday and stayed over �til Saturday. We had a good time together, doing just about nothing, as usual. On Friday we attempted to go to a used bookstore with a bunch of books I wanted to trade in. We decided to walk over since getting the wheelchair bus is just about impossible. About 40 mins into the walk the respirator starts beeping and we realize that the external battery has not been working and I have about 20 mins until the thing quits. Obviously not enough time to get home, so off he goes to look for a pay phone. The machine quits just as my dad arrives and he doesn't have the cord to hook up the respirator to the lighter for power. Fun drive home. Morrison got the fun job of pushing the 350-lb. wheelchair all the way back home. Weee. Yesterday was Morrison's birthday and I didn't tell Mom �til that morning, which was in retrospect probably a good thing. I got crap for it, but she might have wanted me to contact his friends or something and tried to have some kind of party. I'm pretty sure there are a couple of his friends I don't want in the house. In any case, she invited over the neighbors and my sister and made a cake. He thought it was too much and was startled to receive a card from them and a gift certificate from my parents. My mom likes to make a big deal over birthdays. We are fairly used to it, I don't think Morrison is at all. Hopefully it made him feel at least a little bit warm and squishy inside. I have weird dreams when Morrison is over for a night or more. (He sleeps in the other room, no hanky panky, strictly platonic sleepovers.) They seem very literal and odd. I have dreams of me talking to him in serious conversations and I think I'm awake. One morning he was in the room on the computer and I woke up from one of these dreams. My eyes popped open, I realized I had been dreaming and said "Son of a bitch!" I think I startled him, I kind of startled myself. I think I talk a bit in my sleep anyway, so maybe it wasn't that startling for him. I wonder what I say; if I say anything that can be understood. Tomorrow I have an appointment at social services. Yippee. I'll have to convince my mother to come with me and she'll want to have nothing to do with it. It's not my fault that I may need doors opened and that she knows answers to some questions that I may not. It's like pulling teeth with her. She thinks it's some sort of test of maturity to see if I can do these things on my own. I feel that I'd rather not sit there and say, "Well, my mom would know the answer to that" to every second question. She has some sort of patronizing hysterical mental block when I ask her for help in dealing with people. It drives me insane.
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This is my blogchalk:
Canada, Saskatchewan, Saskatoon, , English, , Female, 26-30, Reading.