Quiche and salad
Another depressing day of mum refusing to get up and instead lying in bed until lunchtime complaining about feeling ill, then getting up and spending the afternoon panicking about everything.
This afternoon Lady Friday came round and took mum out for a short drive. I took the opportunity to follow up on my three remaining possible flats: two in Ryde, and one in Lake (a town I don’t know at all, which is halfway between Shanklin and Sandown, on the south coast of the Island).
The responses were, in order, no pets allowed, on the first floor, and already let.
My already low mood plummeted further.
Then I did the application assessment for the Santander Open Academy, a programme run by the titular bank that provides a year of free online training courses. The assessment was a personality test, which included a question about whether I expect things to turn out for the worst. The fact that my answer is a definite yes has, I think, less to do with my personality and more to do with how the world seems to have it in for me atm.
I was asked in the comments yesterday about my plans for mum when (if?) I move out. Mum has agreed to meet with a social worker to discuss her care needs, and the social worker I have been talking to has asked to be allocated mum’s case so she is covering us both.
What I am thinking is that carers will come in three or four times a day to give mum her meds and food: they might actually do better at that than me, as I find mum’s flip-flopping between “there’s too much food” and “there’s nothing to eat” deeply irritating.
I will get mum an emergency alarm pendant – I will need one for myself, too, for that matter – and a picture phone so all she will need to do to talk to me is push the button with the picture of my face. I will, however, set limits on my responses to the latter, or she’ll be calling me every five minutes.
I will visit her a couple of times a week, and will be available to order her her coffee ice cream and other treats as needed.
In exchange for all that, I will get space that is mine, a Suki who doesn’t end up hiding under the cupboards just to escape mum’s stressful energy, and the opportunity to eat what I want, go out when I like, and study and work without constant interruptions. It sounds like bliss.
This evening, as always, I cooked and served dinner. Mum looked at her plate and said “is that it?”, then requested some of the salad off my plate (which is why there isn’t my usual mountain of leaves on the plate).
Then I served jam roly-poly. Mum asked if I wanted some too, and seemed disappointed when my answer was ‘yes’. She took her bowl back to the living room and hadn’t even sat down and picked up her spoon before she was asking what she could have next.
I have now found another possible flat, so have sent the lettings agent a message for them to pick up tomorrow morning. I have also joined a couple of property-related Facebook groups, and will post on those tomorrow.
For now, it’s the usual tv and endless complaining, before bed and Suki snuggles, then tomorrow I get to do the whole thing again.
Hooray, not.
