inbetween

On Friday afternoon, I was having a beer with some friends atop the Sticky Wicket. Guess who called. No really. Guess.

Auntie Roberta, dying daddies sister. Totally at random.

"Where were you?" she asked.
"huh?" I wonder out loud.
"Weren't you supposed to meet your father today? I thought that, after all we went through last week..." and she starts to trail off into the distance. The ambient noise around us was unbearable, so I left the bar and stood on the street to talk to her.

She accused me of some pretty nasty things, like fornicating on her front steps, leaving nasty notes and (my personal favourite) projecting gay porn through her curtains. I wish I could make stuff like this up, but I've never been that creative.

"And it was just so hurtful, what you did to me last night Michael."
"But I wasn't anywhere near you, or your house. I don't know where you live."
"But it was just so mean and painful. I was doing so well too, it had been four days since I'd gone to group therapy.
"But I didn't do it. Did you see me there? I don't think you did."

She didn't. She did see two men fornicating on her front stairs (or at least she thinks she did.) She asked them to leave (so she says) and then they left nasty notes, asking to meet my father (duwah?) at Taco-Bell.

The entire phone call was just so irrational and wierd and "haven't been to group in four days" that I just couldn't deal with it. What is she smoking? I think this is just more evidence that she really is crazy/bipolar/insane/in-need-of-more-shock-therapy.

The next day, I got into a fight with my mother about wether or not I was angry at her. I wasn't, but she was certain that I was. Rather than ask m, she just plainly decided I was.

At least Sunday was relaxing. Beach, wine, Klezmer music, and more wine, and a very short-changed bill later, I was feeling very relaxed.

Stupid family.