COF 127 - dfs-archiver/dfs-archive GitHub Wiki
I spent Sunday afternoon at a library, searching the internet for a room, and came back to the house in good spirits. Katrina was gone for the weekend, and Mom and I read the Sunday paper in the living room together, making pleasant conversation, except for her asking me (9th and 10th time) why I don't recline in the recliner when I sleep.
Seriously, it was about as nice an afternoon with Mom as I can remember. Then Sis came home, we all talked for a while, Mom explained to her that I still won't recline in the recliner, and Sis said sanely, "Well, if he's comfortable, who cares?"
Katrina went to bed, and Mom and I continued reading the newspaper and occasionally talking. The TV had been off, and it had been an enjoyable time with my mother. I'd love to have a mom like the mom in the living room that afternoon.
I don't, though. That afternoon was an aberration. There have been other nice moments, sure, but most of my stay so far has been more like what follows.
At about 7:30 I said good night and started drifting off. "You turn in early," Mom said, but she said it nicely. She told me again that I should recline in the recliner, but then she said good night, and I slept for a while, interrupted only when she ruffled the pages of the newspaper. And then at 10:00 sharp, she turned the TV on (volume 40 out of 40) to watch the nightly news on channel 13.
I was instantly wide awake, confused, and grumpy. It took five seconds for me to understand where I was and what the hell was happening, and then I simmered while listening to the trashy teases for the night's news. Some cop is dead, and our news crew was at the funeral. A man has been murdered, and you can help police and Channel 13 solve the mystery. There was a basketball game, and Phil at the Sports Desk will have the highlights. Whoosh. Commercials.
"Mom, are you aware that I'm here?"
"What?"
I said again, much louder, to defeat the TV's atomic volume, "Are you aware that I'm here, that I'm asleep on this chair in the living room, when you turn the TV on at full volume?"
"I want to watch the news," she said.
"I want to be asleep," I said, "and I don't have a room of my own here, with a TV of my own. Could you maybe watch the news at full volume on the TV in your bedroom?"
"The picture is smaller on that TV," she said. "Plus, I'd know when you're asleep if you'd recline in the recliner."
"Or you'd know I'm asleep because I said 'Good night, I'm going to sleep."
"Why don't you recline in the recliner?"
"I am not ever reclining in the recliner," I yelled, and since she's my mom I instantly regretted the yelling, but Jesus H Christ. "I don't have a room here," I said more quietly. "I sleep in the living room. I can't sleep with the BS News at 99 decibels."
She clicked the TV off, spent several minutes gathering her stuff, didn't say good night and didn't say sorry, but she went into her bedroom and turned the TV news on, full volume. Now I've typed it, but it's half an hour later, I'm wide awake, and sleep is always elusive so I'll be awake another hour at least.
Like Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman, I got nowhere else to go.
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The next morning Mom apologized, and I apologized, but she's apologized before and it's never the end of anything. I spent the day pounding pavement in the University District, unsuccessfully looking for a boarding house with an empty room, then came home, ate dinner, chatted with Mom and Sis, etc. Eventually Katrina turned in, and I started falling asleep in the recliner, so again I announced out loud: "Good night, I'm going to sleep."
It was about 8:00, and Mom was sitting in the living room's other recliner. She said good night, and then reclined and continued reading the newspaper — a real newspaper, on paper, so every few minutes the crinkle of pages filled the otherwise quiet room and woke me up. At least the TV wasn't on, and I was pretty sure after the apology that she wouldn't click the news on at 10, and she'd go to bed when she'd finished reading the paper, right?
Well, no. For the next few hours I caught what sleep I could, as she got out of and back into the recliner several times, occasionally said something to herself, and made a phone call. After myriad more rustlings of pages, I was awakened again, this time by the sound of her snoring, as if… wait, was she going to sleep with me in the living room? She was under a blanket.
"What are you doing, Mom?"
"What?"
Louder: "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to sleep," she explained.
"Not here," I said. "Go to bed, please."
"We're having a slumber party," she said, as if it was obvious and made perfect sense. "I thought we could both sleep in our recliners, and maybe chat during the night."
"What the fudge?" I asked. "I'm not 11 years old. We're not having a slumber party. Please go to your bed in your bedroom."
"I won't disturb you," she said.
"You're already disturbing me! I want to be asleep, but instead I'm listening to you turn the paper's pages, and snore, and recline and unrecline the recliner, and talk on the phone, and now we're arguing about whether we're going to sleep in the same room, except we're not arguing — because we're not sleeping in the same room. Go to your bed in your bedroom, please, Mom."
"I'm not going anywhere," she said, switching from innocent to haughty. "It's my living room, in my house," which is why I slept in my car last night.
And yeah, it's her house, her living room, but I'm an invited guest and the deal was that I'd be sleeping in the living room. It's a fair implication, I think, that a guest sleeping in the living room is allowed to sleep — and alone.
♦ ♦ ♦
Actually, I slept quite well in the car. It's quiet and comfortable, long as I run the engine and heater for ten minutes every few hours. If Mom claims the living room again tonight, the car will do me fine.
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A room for rent may be coming into focus, not a moment too soon, and at a rent that's actually less than I'd expected. Gotta meet the flatmates, and of course I am Mr Bad Impression even on a good night's sleep, and I'm sleep-deprived so they'll probably hate me, but I yam what I yam and what will be will be.
Meanwhile, to keep myself occupied while homeless and unemployed, I'm surfing the internet, and You Are There.
♦ ♦ ♦
Fines against rich people don't have much effect. Why can't Alex Jones be arrested, same as you'd be if you intentionally and repeatedly missed court dates?
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Burger King sued by customers who claim Whopper is smaller than advertised
Haven't seen the ads in question, but a Whopper these days is about 60% the size of a Whopper from the 1990s. They've made it basically a Whopper Jr.
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Disabled voters face a choice in Wisconsin:
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New vehicles must average 40 mpg by 2026, up from 28 mpg
Baby steps, as Hell approaches.
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Black Lives Matter, the organization, buys a $6-million house
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Study proves that people who stop watching Fox exclusively can recover sanity
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Scientists to broadcast Earth's location to aliens, ignoring Stephen Hawking's warning
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Me: "Do you need the bathroom? I'm about to take a shower."
Mom: "Go right ahead." (long pause, while I wait because I know what's coming). "Oh, can I use the bathroom first?"
...after the shower...
Mom: "Oatmeal in five minutes!"
Me: "Huh?"
Mom: "It's on the stovetop. I'm making enough for both of us."
Me: "Uh, no thanks. I don't like oatmeal, plus I'm dressed and about to leave, and need to be someplace in half an hour."
Mom: "Oatmeal in five minutes! Blueberry — your favorite."
Me: "I've never had blueberry oatmeal in my life. And sorry, but I'm taking my pills, and then I have to go." (holding my morning pills in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other)
Mom: "Did you take your pills?"
Me: (looking at the pills) "I'm about to."
Mom: "Do you need some water?"
Me: (looking at the water) "This is a bottle of water."
...a few minutes later...
Mom: "Here's our oatmeal. Blueberry oatmeal — your favorite."
Me: "Still never had blueberry oatmeal, still meeting somebody, got to go."
Mom: "It's blueberry oatmeal — your favorite."
Me: "Right, my favorite, but I said no. Gotta go." (waves) "Bye."
Mom: "You said no? I didn't hear you."
Me: "You answered me, so I think you heard me. Bye."
♦ ♦ ♦
One-word newscast, because it's the same news every time...
• cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops • cops
• QAnonsense • QAnonsense
♦ ♦ ♦
The End
4/6/2022
Tip 'o the hat to All Hat No Cattle, Linden Arden, ye olde AVA, BoingBoing, Breakfast at Ralf's, Captain Hampockets, CaptCreate's Log, John the Basket, LiarTownUSA, Meme City, National Zero, Ran Prieur, Voenix Rising, and anyone else whose work I've stolen without saying thanks.
Extra special thanks to Becky Jo, Name Withheld, Dave S., and always Stephanie...
Cranky Old Man