November 30, 2007

• I just don't get it.

  Gilly and I were getting along just fine tonight. We went to bellydance, we came home and made dinner, we took the recycling down, we watched a couple hours of TV. I put up the remaining Christmas lights, and started thinking aloud about what needed to be done before our weekend guests start arriving tomorrow. This was more a list of things I needed to get done than things we both needed to do, and Gilly easily agreed that we needed to get rid of the camping gear from the living room. So we got to the end of ER, I started gathering the stuff that needed to go into storage, and I dug through my purse to find the new lock from the matching set I got for the two lockers so we only need one key to open either one. Gilly came in and said she needed a shower so we'd better go, so we went. All was fine and dandy as far as I could tell.

  We got to the main floor and dragged our stuff to the end of the corridor. I told Gilly I was going to run down to my car and grab the propane tank that has been rolling around in my back seat for a week in a questionably safe manner.

  "Fine," Gilly said, "I don't really give a shit." Uhhhh... Did I miss something? I made no comment in reply and just went to the garage.

  When I returned, Gilly was standing by the locker, and I placed the propane cylinder and Zazu's cat cage on the floor and turned away to put a box of model aircraft stuff into the other locker. Gilly got snarky with me again and I didn't say anything. Then she made one more snap at me, and I called her on it. I told her I didn't know why she's mad at me but to cut it out because it's unnecessary. So the red-faced yelling began, Gilly defensively telling me I was the one being bitchy and that I should just shut up and leave her alone. Seriously, there's only so many times I can ignore the abuse, and I think I have every right to tell her to shove it when she just gets crazy for no reason. We exchanged some words in the lobby, and as the elevator door opened some guy stepped off and Gilly shouted at me, "See you upstairs, BITCH!" The guy looked totally bewildered. I just went off to check the mail.

  I came upstairs, tossed Gilly's mail on her chair and retreated to my room. Gilly was getting into the shower and we didn't say anything to each other. When she got out she read her mail and got all happy and chirpy that she got her confirmation letter from the student loans office saying they'd received her big payment. So then she was bouncing around again, and went off to bed.

  I really, really don't get it. It's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and I can't predict when the switch is going to flip and she's going to freak on me for something. Last week I asked her to go see my social worker with me, and initially she made no response, and then at the last minute she refused and flew into a rage. Eventually I got her to go with me, and what it all came down to is that she resents me for moving into "her" space, despite the fact that she sort of invited me and my moving in has cut her rent and utilities in half. She makes no apologies for resenting my presence, and when I tell her it's like living with Mom all over again, she just won't acknowledge it. I need her support and if she'd just start dealing with her own shit, I'd be happy to offer her my support as well. None of this has been easy on either of us, and we need to stick together. It's making it worse that my usual form of therapy (my blog) is not a viable option with the Gilly issues as she reads it and gets angry if I mention our fights. However, I need to release the pressure somewhere, and if it can't be done through direct and effective communication with her it's going to have to be here. I feel like my head is going to explode.

  Christmas is going to be really hard, and I'm already feeling the sadness creeping back in on me. I keep getting teary thinking about Dad, thinking about Zazu, thinking about how I'd like to have a relationship with my mom but she's on the warpath again. Last week she phoned and Gilly answered, and Mom went on a tirade about her scooter stopping and how awful we are for having taken her driver's licence away. Mom's birthday is on Sunday, and Gilly and I have decided to go to Newmarket for the afternoon and take her to dinner, but neither one of us is particularly looking forward to it. Mom even said she would only be "playing happy families" for Christmas because she still hates us. Honestly, I'd rather just not see her at all for Christmas than have her lay on the guilt trips again. If (when) she does that, I'll have to just walk out and go to Ellen's, because I'm not dealing with that shit.

  I see the psychiatrist again next week, and I suspect he'll be upping my medication again because I've been getting weepy and panicky again. Last week I ran out of choir practice early, crying because a number of things related and unrelated to choir itself built up in my head and I just choked up and burst into tears. I called in sick to choir this week as I had been extra ridiculously tired and feeling generally unwell all day, but when choir time came I felt fine. I'm thinking my sick feeling might have been a stress response of fear that I might panic at practice again. I'm hoping I'm OK at tomorrow's dress rehearsal and at the concert on Saturday.

  In happier news, I spent the last couple of days in Toronto. I saw the neurologist yesterday, spelled out my situation to him with CPP wanting my sleep disorder to be treated before they approve me, and he said he can't do anything until positive test results show up, even though he believes I do have narcolepsy. Argh. That's the short version, and there's not much more to say about the half hour or so I spent with him, tying to get him to do something to help me.

  In the afternoon I went to Scarborough and saw August Rush, which was a pretty good movie. It was strange seeing evil Henry VIII as the sexy centre of a love story, and Robin Williams with lots of earrings. It's the first movie I've seen in a long time that doesn't contain any swearing, although it's not a children's movie.

  After the movie I met Luc at Jack Astor's and we stuffed ourselves with pan bread. Mitun showed up late after a long ordeal in traffic, and we all went to Luc's place to hang out for the evening. Luc worked on Gilly's computer, Mitun fed us bits of satay chicken, and we made cheesecake. One of us, who shall remain nameless, had exceptionally large and smelly farts all night, which were the kind that were so bad they were actually enjoyable by those present. It led to a discussion about Dutch oven cooking. I stayed in the spare bedroom for the night and I listened to the crazy laughter of the two loons in the other bedroom as I fell asleep.

  Today I went back to Sunnybrook for an appointment with a dietitian, which went well. I decided to take a walk for a while before heading home, so I wandered around for a while, holding my hat on in the fierce wind and covering my face from the swirling debris that attacked me from all angles. I ended up taking shelter in Seduction, where I saw a 3400 mL jug of lubricant. Jebus! I can't imagine why anyone would need that much lube!

  Well, I'm pooped. Time for bed.

  • 1:17 am
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