Aquarius 27° (February 16)

Woke up this morning at 4 o’clock because one has no choice when someone gets up and bangs around and uses a loud coffee grinder. This sort of behavior is nothing new but this present exhibition started hours even earlier than usual.  The whining took the form of wondering if the inlaws should be delivered an apology. Of course they should be (they never were by the way). And I got an apology to which I said: I didn’t take it personally (which was really only half true). I did say that I found it strange because, by rights, yesterday should have been a day of celebration given the news from the hospital. But, you see, as I said yesterday, good news wasn’t necessarily what this character was after. I know it’s sick to say that but what other conclusion could one draw? The dog was still acting weird. I strongly suggested she be taken to the vet. This suggestion was met with a soliloquy about how her behavior signalled that she was dying—that she was “leaving the pack” by hiding under benches and in closets and that, as the person delivering this monologue was the “alpha”, she was especially detaching from him. Okay. So all the more reason then to take her to the vet, no? No. She had been given pain killers and she was zonked out was part of the non-reason why not. He set off. S., G. and mother inlaw were going to hang out together and have lunch. The land phone rang and it was S’s cousin saying her mother, sister of mother-in-law, was in hospice (and would die just two days later). Another tragic blow in the midst of a drama that should have been all good news. Then the cell phone rang. It was guess who.

Now he’s saying that, on the urging of his ailing wife, the dog does need to go to vet after all and that she actually had an appointment made by phone from the hospital. And guess who had to take her. Not me. But S. and G. with mother inlaw joining in solidarity. That fucker. Now my eyes were coal black. But S. being the kind trooper that she is rose to the occasion and after that went to the hospital, all three, themselves. They didn’t take our car because it was out of wiper fluid and the windshield was streaked. I would go get fluid and some wine and dinner fixins. The inlaws were not going to join because my feeling is they still felt burnt and abused by he who sucks all the kind air out of the room. I made homemade chicken stock and added it to a pasta sauce with onion and pre-made pesto and it was super yummy. It was just S. and G. and me and it was really fun. I said i wanted a dessert that was chewy, crunchy, cold and creamy—that was the challenge—and so I was brought a concoction of nuts and marshmallows and kefir and some frozen fruit bits. I named it the Uncle Lynnie. Upon his return it was more of the same as last evening only in a more silent and seething form before he took G. up to bed with him which, these many years on, is getting super weird. But that’s not my business. The next morning, TCM had on some great musicals in a row that we were enjoying watching—it was something of a cinema class, with Meet Me in St. Louis, Top Hat, and Annie Get Your Gun. We only saw the last bit of the first one. The second one was thrilling for its dancing and G. loves dancing. And the last one, during which she drew and through which we talked, she found inspiring in  that her description of it was that “it was about a woman who did everything better than men which made them angry but she did what she did anyway.” I’m paraphrasing. The we got a text: Have G. call me. Apparently we were not only ratted out there for apparently ruining the child by letting her watch old great musicals on a Sunday morning while we waited for her parents return but also to the parent’s parents who, when she was taken down to visit them, made comment about television that telegraphed the fact that they had news of our supposed bad influence. That was all brother.

Happily we had dinner down at the inlaws and escaped the crazy for awhile. But only after it became clear that the world had been let known about this brief hospitalization and that it was being used as a test to see “who your real friends really are” and apparently a whole bunch of people who should have been there (for him—this is him speaking) weren’t. And, as we learned, even those of us who were there were doing everything wrong despite the fact that we were shopping and cooking and cleaning and babysitting and chauffering and dog sitting and taking said dog to the doggy doctors. Even we were the problem. No words of thanks. Only side-eye derision. And folks, when I’m done I’m done and let me tell you I am done.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree of the Sabian Symbol may be higher than the one listed here  as the symbols cluminate in the next degree. There are 360  degrees spread over 365 days. 

Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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