Let's Do the Time Warp Again
12 days since my last post? Really? Wow. Time flies when you're not having fun.
After an exhausting weekend with Bob (following my last post), he got sent home again the following Monday. I found out the psych hospital his current shrink rounds at has a day treatment program, and off we went. He spent last week there. It wasn't as awful as straight-up inpatient admission, but it was still bad.
And then Friday, whatever switch is in his head seemed to flip, and he started acting like himself again. He went back to school yesterday and so far, so good. Not perfect, but bearable. Knock, knock, knock on wood.
Was it the drugs? Or just the natural cycle of Bob? We don't know. We may never know.
And that's the hardest part about life with Bob--there's so much you can't know. I live my life under the assumption that every problem has a solution; you just have to find it. This notion that Bob may have a problem without a clear-cut answer? Yeah, I'm not handling that so well. The thought there may be something out there I can't somehow fix or at least make better shakes me to my very core.
I'm trying, though. I'm trying to be accepting and all that. It's not easy.
As a result, I'm basically reduced to a mound of oatmeal. Or something equally useless. I can't think. I can't keep anything straight. I'm making more lists than ever because it's the only way I can fucking remember shit. And on Sunday, I'm throwing Moosebaby's 1st birthday party at our house. Between now and then, I have to orchestrate getting our family room carpet cleaned (fucking gutters were full last week when we got hit with like, 18 inches of rain in an hour and ended up with a good 30 gallons of water in our family room carpet); purchasing, hauling and distributing a few hundred pounds of mulch (for the yard) and sand (for the sandbox); purchasing all the food and supplies for the party; making Moosebaby a cake (yes, I'm making him a cake--everyone else will get pre-made cupcakes from Costco); and all the other shit I typically handle on a day-to-day basis.
My head is spinning. (Literally, too, as allergy season is in full force and I'm dizzy as hell despite my serious Sudafed use.) I got invited to sub in a bunco game last night (I didn't know what bunco was, and I'm still not sure, but I at least now know it involves dice) and trying to focus on those stupid little dots and numbers almost drove me over the edge. At one point the Token Gay Man asked me (about the empty seat opposite me) to name my "fantasy partner," and I swear to God, I couldn't even think of anyone. Fantasy partner? I don't even have time to think about having reality sex. And that made me sad, so I made sure to get it on with the husband after I got home. Which, of course, set my bedtime back a good 35 minutes. (Sigh.)
I did get to sleep in this morning, though--Bob raced last night, and since he's working from home today, Ben got the Mother-In-Law to keep Moosebaby overnight, and we let Bob sleep in. But I'm still freakin' tired. And confused.
I can haz vacayshun, pleeeze?
After an exhausting weekend with Bob (following my last post), he got sent home again the following Monday. I found out the psych hospital his current shrink rounds at has a day treatment program, and off we went. He spent last week there. It wasn't as awful as straight-up inpatient admission, but it was still bad.
And then Friday, whatever switch is in his head seemed to flip, and he started acting like himself again. He went back to school yesterday and so far, so good. Not perfect, but bearable. Knock, knock, knock on wood.
Was it the drugs? Or just the natural cycle of Bob? We don't know. We may never know.
And that's the hardest part about life with Bob--there's so much you can't know. I live my life under the assumption that every problem has a solution; you just have to find it. This notion that Bob may have a problem without a clear-cut answer? Yeah, I'm not handling that so well. The thought there may be something out there I can't somehow fix or at least make better shakes me to my very core.
I'm trying, though. I'm trying to be accepting and all that. It's not easy.
As a result, I'm basically reduced to a mound of oatmeal. Or something equally useless. I can't think. I can't keep anything straight. I'm making more lists than ever because it's the only way I can fucking remember shit. And on Sunday, I'm throwing Moosebaby's 1st birthday party at our house. Between now and then, I have to orchestrate getting our family room carpet cleaned (fucking gutters were full last week when we got hit with like, 18 inches of rain in an hour and ended up with a good 30 gallons of water in our family room carpet); purchasing, hauling and distributing a few hundred pounds of mulch (for the yard) and sand (for the sandbox); purchasing all the food and supplies for the party; making Moosebaby a cake (yes, I'm making him a cake--everyone else will get pre-made cupcakes from Costco); and all the other shit I typically handle on a day-to-day basis.
My head is spinning. (Literally, too, as allergy season is in full force and I'm dizzy as hell despite my serious Sudafed use.) I got invited to sub in a bunco game last night (I didn't know what bunco was, and I'm still not sure, but I at least now know it involves dice) and trying to focus on those stupid little dots and numbers almost drove me over the edge. At one point the Token Gay Man asked me (about the empty seat opposite me) to name my "fantasy partner," and I swear to God, I couldn't even think of anyone. Fantasy partner? I don't even have time to think about having reality sex. And that made me sad, so I made sure to get it on with the husband after I got home. Which, of course, set my bedtime back a good 35 minutes. (Sigh.)
I did get to sleep in this morning, though--Bob raced last night, and since he's working from home today, Ben got the Mother-In-Law to keep Moosebaby overnight, and we let Bob sleep in. But I'm still freakin' tired. And confused.
I can haz vacayshun, pleeeze?
posted by Mitzi Green at 11:27 AM
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