Mom fell and cracked a rib.
She's done this before. Of course, it's not her fault. Canada Post delivered the neighbour's mail to her house, and she had to go and redeliver it right then and there. It's not her fault for wearing the disintegrating Birkenstocks that she tripped on.
This weekend, I was sick (and still am). Yesterday was particularly miserable, coming as it did after a fitful night of much night-sweats, and no sleep at all. And frankly, I'm not one to complain about pain or illness. If I do complain, then it's pretty fucking bad. I am, let's remember, the one who decided to tough out a burst appendix.
And I'm not saying it was planned or anything, but she has this remarkable habit of making sure the spotlight is firmly on her. My grandmother (other side) had the same habit. There was always some problem, some drama, that would always pop up whenever it was someone's else's day. And always accidental. It really was quite remarkable.
Last week she was complaining about how heavy her suitcase was coming back from the Boat, and what a problem it was to drag it around. It was a way of soliciting the attention on her. And this, when I was the one dragging her suitcase around, thank you very much, and what the fuck would she know about it?
This spotlight thing -- it's a nasty habit, and one I'm not inclined to indulge. Maybe that makes me a shitty son, I don't know. Calling this morning, it was this one massive pity party which I had no patience for whatsoever. Did I do this when my sternum was broken for me? When I cracked my rib cleaning the tub? No. Did I get her sympathy then? Not really. Did I get any sympathy for being sick this weekend? No -- I still had to take her to the antique show. I was the one who had to fucking drive, when, frankly, consciousness was a bit of a problem.
Always a case of the DRAMZ. And always an accident. So many convenient accidents.
She's pushing for me to drive to her place to pick up the garbage can from the street and put it in the garage. This just after I spent two weeks taking her to England and back, walking her through every step. Whatever pass I get doesn't last very long.
But it'll never change. All I can do is not be terribly receptive.