February 6, 2014
Imagine having to sign a
lease agreement, determining when you will be dying? Mrs. “B”chose an eight
month contract, last year, she outlived her nine month signature. She must give
a two month notice to vacate and create a list of people who can come and go in
her apartment, from that date on. It isn’t enough to decide what precious cargo
to leave to whom.
Unbeknownst to me, the doodads
I moved around on top of the bureau made it impossible for Mrs. “B” to access
the stations on her radio with the remote. The ribs were just undercooked enough
that the meat didn’t pull easily away from the bone. The meals I prepared and stored
on the top shelf of the frig were too far over to the left for said client to place
her water jug to cool. I was “written-up,” once again.
I have to laugh and complete
my pilates, walk daily and eat a lot of chocolate or “someone” would be left, tied
to her lift chair with gauze and medical tape across her mouth. Watching “Nurse
Jackie’s” wrath gives me plenty of ideas for revenge. The only problem is- the simple
fact that I am the solo caregiver, aside from the family. Cops would show up at
my house, knowing I am the only suspect, haul me away, and throw away the key. I
assume a friend would be willing to bring me a cake with a hidden knife. I would
do the same for you. That’s what friends are for.
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