Heavily Redacted

I have only known Junebug for a year but sometimes I marvel at how well she knows me. She sent me this the other day.

Dad, I’m the blue bubble.

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Duh. I always want to laugh.

 

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If you want full effect, imagine me scream-laughing at the phone and then running around with it clutched to my chest between texts because Scratchy got wind of something juicy going down and wanted to know.

Scratchy: “Mom! Tell me!”

Me: “No! You’re too young!”

Scratchy: “But Mommmm, I can take it!”

Son, I don’t know if I can take it.

These damn kids are sooo up in my shit. The other day I was telling a Junebug about a rather pornographic conversation happening to me (yes – to me – I had nothing to do with that shit) at a party.

Some dude was going at ad nauseam about the sex he and his girlfriend have (while the poor woman had to sit by and cringe … I should have stopped him but I was too stunned).

Junebug was all, “Why would he tell you this stuff?” (because she doesn’t know that I am a magnet for bizarre overshares) and I was like, “I don’t know. Weird flex, but okay.”

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After Junebug leaves and Itchy comes downstairs and we are chatting and he’s all, “Weird flex but okay,” and watches the blood drain from my face.

“Yeah mom, you are really loud. It’s like you are in the same room so I hear everything.”

Little biter probably reads my blog, too.

HI ITCHY!

Anyway, back to the texts.

… as she IMMEDIATELY texts a screen shot to me.

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This is internet gold, my friends.

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And soon all 3 of my readers (HI DAD! HI ITCHY!) will be laughing, too.

Of course, the question is why did the text go to Junebug? According to her they hadn’t texted in weeks so their convo line shouldn’t have been at the top. Nor are their names easily conflated, like June and Julia or something.

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Yeah, so that happened, injecting a little levity into an otherwise dreary existence.

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At very least you should double check the recipient before you air your sexual issues to anyone who has any type of relationship with me because I will absolutely get my hands on it and blog the shit out of it, as Sideboob knows.

She can sense when something she writes me will be screenshot and put onto the blog.

So this is going on …

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Jeez, poor thing. But then again, she’s napping so I’m jealous.

That text was a bright light in what feels like a slog to the finish line. I have exactly 16 days until I get to have one less person living in my house, one less mouth to feed, one less bed to make, one less person to drive around, one less person to make conversation with (which is the hardest part) … I’m so ready.

Elder care is hard, y’all. I am fully aware that it could be a lot harder, my MIL is relatively easy to be around and care for. She’s easy going, grateful and sweet and can mostly handle her own hygiene and dressing. But she can’t remember something from one minute to the next which is the most emotionally taxing thing to deal with. Believe me.

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It’s like Groundhog Day but on a 60 second rotation

And for anyone out there who says, “You can do this / it’s not a big deal / it’s the right thing to do / you just have to get through it,” that is all true but before you say one more fucking word, I would like you to come over to my house and live it for a day. Just saying.

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I’m glad I have friends that will. not. let. me. down. I went a party that Redacted dj’d and MPT was at. She’s been keeping an eye on me. She took one look at me and reached into her pocket and handed me some TOTALLY LEGAL pot.

Thanks man.

Then we danced for a while and then she asked me to walk her home, which I did if you can call supporting 90 percent of someone’s body weight walking “with”, and proceeded to have the best/funniest conversation ever while she proceeded to eat everything in her house.

We had two holiday parties on Saturday and threw one for Loony’s bird club on Sunday. Maybe I’m partied out?

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Nah. Can’t stop. Won’t stop.

Redacted is already on me to go to more shows. I put up no resistance.

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