Feline Warrior

Nobody is truly happy at my house. I manage to maintain some sense of cheeriness, but there’s a rumbling tension beneath the smile.

Today I wore new purple cowgirl boots. That was a good thing. Happy feet = happy Franque. But once the boots came off, my awareness of the hatred bouncing back and forth here. (As in “I’m rubber, you’re glue; whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”) And of course the boots came off at home. So that ought to be at least a smidge telling.

This is just a quick report. For some reason I’m pooped. Long day today, busy day, good day. Interviewed a professor for an article, learned something new: Williams Syndrome. Often misdiagnosed, often untreated. Shame, that. Wrote a press release about an upcoming gallery exhibit. Got praise for some graphic work I do (yay, me!). And a zillion other things. Amazing what a person can do when she’s alert and sober and such. (I’m just sayin’)

So now I’m off to bed. Ten-oh-eight and all’s not well, but it’s okay.

OH… postscript: I am having a wicked hard time having a conversation with my mother about her “next plans.” IE, this isn’t working out - she needs to work and she can’t really do it from a place where there’s no transportation. So she’s trapped in my house. It’s like Brigadoon, without the music. And fog. Well, it’s not really like Brigadoon at all, but it IS like nothing’s going to change for her here.

Now I’m really going to bed!

Blogged with Flock

Tags: mom