Crying is the Shits

A counselor-friend mentioned to Flat Stanley's husband that FS's dying, dysfunctional parent issue might blow the dust off of FS's long-resolved issues with the ol lady. F***er. Hate it when people are right about crap like that.

Flat Stanley's mother had her caseworker and nursing home professionals fit to be tied last Friday when it was discovered that the old lady had spent the preceding few days on the phone bollixing up financial and legal arrangements that took FS's sister months to straighten out. The old lady removed FS's sister's Power of Attorney status and demanded that the nursing home take charge of her financial affairs. Nursing home refused, leaving FS's sister in the unenviable position of caring for the old lady's bad habits (cell phone bill, cigarettes) without having access to the old lady's money to pay for it. Without power of attorney, there's no one to pay the nursing home, meaning that they'll have to sue the old lady's estate for payment. Which will totally tee her off.

Eventually, somebody's going to step in and remove the old lady's last right to any semblance of independence, and from what FS hears, hospice was advocating that on Friday. Thank goodness for weekends, for they provide space. But. Now FS is being told that the hospice guy is taking back his suggestion because (now that he's all calmed down) he realizes that the old lady's plenty smart enough to convince a judge that she's in complete control of her faculties.

And she probably is. Because the old lady's a carrier. She carries the gene for emotional instability. It's a very powerful gene. It's so powerful that the effects of the gene can be passed outside the usual DNA pathways. This gene makes the saying, "Insanity is hereditary — You get it from your kids" look like a platitude.

This gene for emotional instability has access to local and long-distance carriers. It's transmitted through specific, seemingly innocuous actions such as phone calls and time-of-day conversations. This gene for emotional instability leaves its source (FS's mother) determined and immovable and leaves its recipients blubbering basket cases who have to take the day off work to deal with the oceans of sorrow welling up in volcanic explosions of soul-wrenching depth. Bullshit. No wonder the old lady says she hates emotions. FS does too, at this point.

today

today i received a phone call from my mother. first phone call in almost 27 years. what a weird feeling that was. but it was nice and i think she enjoyed it. i think she even wanted to talk more, but there is only so much strange that two people can absorb in one sitting.

maybe tonight i'll tell some stories from the prison class. next week is graduation already, and this past week the assignment was for each student/inmate/prisoner/bad guy/good guy to give an entertaining speech of 5 to 7 minutes.

these guys are great, and i hope that my re-telling of their stories captures even just a touch of how far the class has come in six weeks -- and how funny their stories were.

Hell-Bound

Fifteen years ago, the house that shelters Flat Stanley's delicate fibers was quaint and cute. Fresh paint, wallpaper and nicely arranged furniture gave the house a homey, welcoming feel. Being busy with three Stanley-ettes, FS and spouse occupied the house as