crazy

...Yeah, I was out of touch
But it wasn't because I didn't know enough
I just knew too much
Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Does that make me crazy
Probably....


Update:
Sister’s visit a success.
Menu included (but sadly, not limited to)
cheese enchiladas, BBQ, bacon/bleu cheese potato salad,
spinach walnut salad with grapes, sun dried tomato/avocado spring rolls
with tamarind/saffron/cashew/honey sauce and vast amounts of chili verde.
Kitchen (and intestines) still recovering.
2 of 7 days spent with brother,
where weather put a damper on the festivities.
HEAVY clouds of guilt and sorrow hanging overhead
obscured any good view of joy, and the passage of time,
mixed with distance (both measurable and immeasurable)
left my sister with a nasty stain that even the best dry cleaners
back home will not be able to get out.
Brain injury – the gift that keeps on giving.
Highlight: Covert clean-up of the toxic waste site in brother’s cupboards.
5 trash bags full of bulging, weeping canned goods, including some
Campbell’s Cream of Chicken soup with a pull date of 1984.
Other recent occurrences:
Daughter’s graduates from high school - celebration limited
to huge amounts of pumpkin pie and whipped cream,
followed by an infusion of gifts, and some money.
Much joy all around regarding the end of high school,
compounded by the simultaneous completion of 2 years
of college through “Running Start’ program.
Pride and relief and fear vying for first place in heart of Mom
as plans for more college in Seattle gather steam.
Brown Shoes gets a JOB.
A real, send out the resume, fill-out-the-paperwork job.
First such job since 1988 (selling art, designing and maintaining gardens
and tending infants do not, while challenging and exhausting, qualify
as “real jobs” apparently. Must figure out why this is so…).
Official title – case manager for women and children
in transitional living facility.
Unofficial title, given by clients – “Captain Killer” –
hmmm, must be the tattoos?
Older sister hits rock bottom, loses job and makes
dreaded 11 p.m. ‘I can’t live like this anymore’ phone call.
Hilarity ensues.
And continues.



Further information will be made available
when the telephone is surgically removed from my ear.



How I have missed writing here,
and perusing my little community,
however questionable some might find
that definition to be.



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