Today marks the official move. My 89-year-old mother moves from Austin to San Antonio into a retirement community 2.5 miles from me.
Already I have been designated her welcoming committee, i.e., the one who has to stay with her tonight so she can get acclimated with family around.
This should put my non smoking to the test. Six days smoke free and I am doing well. Yesterday I might have caved had I been around smoke, but I wasn't, so I didn't.
Anyhow, between Mama and a business meeting and pushing up my editorial schedule so I can go on vacation mid-month, I am busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest.
In other news, it looks like the Goddess and I are kaput.
We had sort of an informal butch/femme agreement: She got to bitch, moan and whine all she wanted until I got tired of it, then she was 'supposed to' discern from the tone of my voice when it was time to simmer down.
She apparently talked right past that tonal change, and right past the louder and more emphatic tonal changes as well.
I am usually quite patient with cranky femmes, but when a nothing incident turns into a huge crisis, I get impatient fast.
And when I hear someone use the word "over" in any permutation, I am done.
I hate games and the, "I'm over, we're over, it's over" game played during a petty squabble is just poison to my security, faith and ability to trust.
Oh, I am sure she'd have an entirely different story to tell, but then this is my blog, not hers. The truth is always somewhere in the middle.
She's a wonderful woman with many assets and a great joie de vivre, but she needs to learn when to simmer the hell down if she wants to be respected, adored and pampered.
Otherwise, all is fine in The No Smoking Zone.