I want a glass of wine. Or two. (Or four.) I have not HAD a glass of wine, and I WON’T have one, but I really, really want one.
ShowEast (the film convention that I leave for on Saturday) is in full-bore, last-minute, oh-my-god-did-I-forget-anything mode. I’m working overtime. (Which means, yay! Paycheck!) I’m getting on a plane on Saturday morning, and coming back on Sunday, November 1. I will be in Orlando all that time, and really can’t come home.
Which would be no big deal, but I got a call Tuesday that said, OH BY THE WAY, GRANDMA’S DYING. Mother of God. Seriously? I mean, really: SERIOUSLY?!?! I went over there that night (tonight, as I write this, but last night as you’re reading this). The doctor said she’d be surprised if Grandma made it till morning, although I’m guessing 2-4 days, after watching Grandpa a couple of months ago. Grandma’s WAY too coherent right now to be on her way out. (I probably jinxed that and she’ll be dead by the time this auto-posts on Wednesday morning.) But it’ll be soon: her kidneys are starting to fail, her system isn’t digesting food anymore, all that stuff. All the processes of a body shutting down are in progress.
She might die before I leave, but even if she doesn’t I will almost certainly miss her funeral. I have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, the funeral is for the living, I said my goodbyes a long time ago, and there isn’t really any love lost between me and the rest of the family, so no one there will miss me. On the other hand . . . well, I liked my grandma. I mean, I loved her, sure, but I also LIKED her. She was a cool lady; cooler, certainly than the rest of the family, and I’ll miss her. I kind of wish I could go to her funeral, although she’d be the first person to laugh at me for it. (Which is a big part of why I won’t be cutting my trip short.)
Anyway. It’s just weird. She’ll be the last grandparent to go, which is also weird. I thought my grandpa would outlive her, but he died a couple of months ago. Never can tell, I guess.
I’m on the fence about the gym tomorrow. It’s almost 10:00 as I write this, and if I want to go to the gym I have to get up at 4:00. On the one hand, I’m TIRED, dammit. On the other hand, I need the stress release. On the other hand (look at me! I’m Tevye!) if I end up going back to Grandma’s tomorrow night, I’ll need all the sleep I can get. (Actually, that will be true most of the rest of the week, anyway. Because I was out Tuesday night, and will probably be out Wednesday night, I can plan on not going to bed before 11 or 12 any night from Wednesday to Friday, because I have a CRAPLOAD of stuff to do before I leave on Saturday morning. Thank God I can sleep on planes.)
Also, my diet is a little crazy right now. I’m eating enough, but I’m just barely within the realm of (almost) acceptable, and I know it. I went through this when Grandpa died, too: this white-knuckled need to have some sort of control. (That’s part of the reason for the PB cups, honestly. Some days are bad, and I end up eating WAY too little, and at the end of the day that makes me REALLY happy. So I go inhale enough PB cups to bring my calorie intake up to a more “normal” level for the day, thus short-circuiting the “can I eat this little (or even less) again tomorrow” Crazy game. The things we do to psych ourselves out.)
It’s going to be a bumpy ride this week. And it’s only Tuesday.