The post/poem I wrote before this, was more or less written to let you know I was still kicking. And screaming. And only in the last few days, regaining my sanity a little.
Unfortunately, when my wife and I got back from our cruise (of which we really should have just stayed on one of the islands) our family, especially my sister and I were plunged into 4 freakin' weeks of MOVING HELL. We, a dozen family members and friends and I had to move my ungrateful Dad's copious amounts of crapola from his house, since he sold his house, to different relative's houses, storage units and other locations.
Dad's constant verbal abuse, accusations that people were stealing from him while helping him move, complete stubbornness of his things to be taken to this storage unit or that 20 yard dumpster made us go fuckin' bonkers.
I understand that he feels that he's somehow letting go of fond memories (or just average memories) of the house since selling it, but goddamn... Don't take it out on us! Don't act as if we don't have lives --that we now have to put on hold.
Mufasa, our 16 year old cat, who died during this moving fiasco will be missed, tremendously I miss her a lot. She would always jump up on the sofa and put her little paws on my leg and she remained playful up until the last week she was alive. It wasn't too much of a shock for me to lose her, however, because I could see she was dying the last few days. I couldn't do anything about it because the vet's office was closed those days and I was moving Dad's shit under a deadline. In fact, while Mufasa was breathing her last few breaths at the vet's office, I was waiting for a fucking retarded dumpster dude to drop off a goddamn dumpster at Dad's house. The dumpster dude was a redneck hick with an I.Q. the size of an ant's dick. He had trouble finding a town that was only two small towns away from his own. Even that is a long story.
I haven't even had the time to show my sister and Dad my cruise pics or give them any souvenirs yet. I spent my birthday moving the last of his shit and putting up with his shit for the last time for, hopefully, a very long time. I need a goddamn break from the emotionally, physically draining events of the past four weeks.
What's that old saying I've seen on bumper stickers before? Oh, oh yeah. It goes something like... WANNA GET EVEN WITH YOUR KIDS?... LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BE A BURDEN TO THEM
So here's the thing: I wrote part of what I'm talking about a few days ago and I debated on whether to put this light hearted story on the blog or not. I like to put deeply personal shit on the blog once in awhile, as you may well know. It helps gets things off my chest and lightens my spirit or mood. Most of the time. On the other hand, it's like living the shit all over again.
If there is a lesson to be learned here it would be this:
Every goddamn parent out there in the world had better start wising up and having a plan ready so that when you die, sell your house or any other huge event and any other obvious responsibility relating to you, it's taken care of. Put it on paper! See the lawyers! Talk to experts!
Do it all now before something unexpectedly horrible happens to you where you can't focus or keep records. Put old crap in storage now and then and above all... Don't be a goddamn hoarder! Think of all that old worthless shit you've got holed up in a ten room, two story house. And Remember This! Your kids aren't fuckin' boulder holding pack mules with signs on their backs saying "Fuck me emotionally up, please!
Don't make their last memories of you into some kind of mentally diseased slop, you selfish fucking breeders of the world!
Thank you. This has been a public service announcement. This has also been somewhat cathartic. Getting better minute by minute.