“Insanity is hereditary. You get it from your children.” Sam Levenson
At the first sign of cranky or irrational behavior on my part, the kids respond with an expression familiar to adolescents all over the world: the eye-roll. This is often followed by: “She must be pms-ing”. Here we go again, they sigh, and stay out of my way. Way, way, wayyy out of my way. They console each other and give each other advice: “Be careful not to anger the beast,” they whisper; and whisper they should, for were the beast to catch them, it would produce fangs and claw their eyes out.
Personally I find the remark demeaning and insulting, and not always accurate. I am not a monster only when I am at that time of the month. I also tend to go a bit berserk when I see their credit card bills, when I see their parking/speeding tickets, when I see the empty beer bottles in their room.
Their pronouncement as to the volatile and often psychotic behavior of their mother has became progressively worse as they age and they have gotten bolder with the insults. Exponentially worse. I had apparently developed ADD, then ADHD, and now stand at being bi-polar. When they started hinting at schizophrenia, I threatened to cut off all aid – rent, tuition, food and especially their breathing.
In the old days, their insolence could be stopped by a few curt phrases: You owe me. I carried you for nine months. You peed in my stomach. I changed your diapers. When they crossed the line, I could yank them back, pulling on an imaginary leash. The leash however, weakened substantially with age, snapped eventually, and had to be replaced by the simple threat of disinheritance.
In recent times, in deference to my age, they reason: “She’s menopausing.” My husband probably agrees with them, but in his wisdom knows better than to voice this out loud. At best he would have to sleep in the guest room, at worst he would be divorced and living alone in a seedy, one-bedroom apartment.
I do concede, albeit grudgingly, that over the years, there has been a steady rise of paranoia on my part. By dint of being a Virgo, I already had a strong-willed, fastidious personality embedded in my DNA. Being judgmental and critical is part of the charming package. Creeping old age was manifesting itself with signs of dementia. In this broiling cauldron of lunacy, add chameleonic temperamental changes and mercurial moods, which swing like a pendulum on steroids.
While I am on a roll with the self-bashing, let’s not leave out the fact that my friends call me anal-retentive. Admitting certain things to them have had certain disadvantages. While they can easily forget my birthday, they always remember the confidences told to them in my cups. So I do have 32 files, each color-coded according to investments (even if recession has been chomping away at them), insurance (car, health, home, earthquake, dental), utilities, mortgage, etc. Well, this is just so that if I am ever asked to produce an invoice for a cavity filled in 1995, I can do it in less than five minutes.
I have an eleven-page compendium of itemized information (driver’s licenses, bank info, investment info, frequent flier mile info) on paper, on a cd, and on a flash drive. It is not on the hard drive, in case the computer crashes, and I have to take it to a tech. (If he is smart enough to fix it, he is smart enough to find my password and hack into my accounts). Three calendars are posted around the house, and one in my handbag - you never know when you have to make an impromptu coffee date. Near every phone in the house (and yes, near all seven of them) is a notepad, and pencils (yes, all sharpened) and a pair of scissors (bought in bulk from Costco). My house is super clean, thanks to the 17 wastebaskets/trashcans around the house – to throw out whatever it is I cut out with the scissors.
Every day the laundry list of manias and phobias get longer and longer.
Case in point: I am leaving for Italy on the 3 pm flight. My daughter asks me if she would like to take me to the airport at 9 am. The sarcasm is lost on me and I accept eagerly. After all, there could be an accident on the freeway, we could get a flat tire or there could be a long line at the airport. And have you seen the security you have to go through these days?
Case Two: I am going to see a movie. I debate leaving my cell phone in the car, but then think if there is a fire, I could call the kids to let them know I am being incinerated in the theater and to please cancel the contract with Combustible Cremations; we would not be needing their services any more.
Case Three: I am at home and every door and window is closed. Ever since Vector Control told me that all a mouse needs to enter the house, is a hole the size of a quarter, every opening to the house has been caulked and hermetically sealed. We have never breathed in fresh, outdoor air in fifteen years, my reasoning being that there is enough oxygen in a 4,000 sq ft house to last us for ages.
Case Four: There is a copy of everyone’s driver’s license, insurance cards, emergency money, a first-aid kit, an umbrella, spare clothes, a shovel, a can opener, a flashlight, a hand-crank radio, granola bars, bottles of water and maps in my Earthquake Emergency Kit. I just hope to get to the shovel in time to dig my way out of the six-foot debris on top of me.
There are quite a few other cases I can think of, the kids offering to add a hundred more. But a note of caution to self: were I to elaborate further, and were a mental health professional to take this as incriminating evidence, he could have a just and reasonable cause to call the men in white, declaring me non compos mentis.
No comments:
Post a Comment