Christmas is definitely over. The lights across the center of the tree have burned out, making a dark belt that implies the tree is on a diet. The poinsettia is ratty. One more day, and the wreckage of the holidays will be put away.
This has been a strange weekend. Further electrical disasters include the burning out of two outlets: one of which powers both the fridge and the microwave. A large industrial-orange extension cord now runs across the kitchen, connecting the fridge to another outlet. However, there is still no light in the kitchen: this will all be fixed Monday.
A sort of dementia led to a comedy of errors for me, as well. I made a pumpkin pie (my roommate’s Italian fiancée has never had it) — but I forgot to turn down the oven from 450º to 325º until the pie had cooked at the higher temperature for 20 minutes, instead of 10. Then I managed to go a Scripps College event at Columbus Circle which had taken place the day before. I went on to a rally protesting fracking — that apparently will take place on Tuesday, not Saturday (I had written both events on my calendar for 6:00 pm Sat.; at least the hour was right!)
To make things even more interesting, I couldn’t get to sleep until 7:30 am today: what’s that about? This kind of sleeping dysfunction, in its many guises, has been going on for a year now!
My super came up at 3:00 pm to take a look at the electrical mess, and cheerfully agreed to fix everything tomorrow, no problem. He is 22 and VERY conscientious: we are sooo lucky to have him, after 20-odd years of losers.
We had a long talk, as is our way, and then he dropped the bomb. He has MS! My father-in-law died of this before I even had a chance to meet him, and my poor ex-husband spent his teenage years caring for him until the end. Gérard never had friends over to visit and never experienced the concerns of the typical teenager. He was an odd adult, but there was a reason for that. He and my father bonded on the shared loss of their fathers (my grandfather died when my dad was only 9) — there was no way I would have been allowed to not marry Gérard!!
Now here is another good, honest, decent, hardworking person who is cursed with this incurable nightmare. No matter what happens, I will try to be there for him and his family until the end — but (goddess willing) there may be a drug that will slow or even cure this horrible disease (up there with Alzheimer’s as the worst of the worst) before he succumbs.
It should be me, who has lived a nice long life, not this lovely young man, who has the terminal illness. He really, really does not deserve this!!!!
It’s so true: only the good die young! People like me live forever!!
(Unless they find something weird at my second colonoscopy in as many months this Thursday: but I doubt I’ll get off that easy! A messy cancer, possibly yes; terminal, no).
I wish someone could explain this to me! I just don’t get it!
Sigh . . .