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2:28 p.m. - Wednesday, Apr. 14, 2004 The last few days have been as follows: Last Friday- Jesse and I left here at I don't remember what time. Noon or 1, I think. We made it into Charelston about an hour or so away when she started fussing. Now, keep in mind that I don't know much of Charelston WHATSOEVER, especially the part we had to pull over into...Charelston is a big city and full of ghetto-ness. So, I pulled off and wound up at a KFC-where ghetto trash abounded. Inside and out...I got out of the car with her and took her in the bathroom, got her all settled on a changing pad in the floor (I swear to God, changing tables should be a state law...I have come to despise places that don't have them, such as this particular KFC) only to see that she is missing a shoe. This kinda freaked me out because I didn't want to have to go looking among the male ghetto trash outside. I don't know why, but I didn't. I changed Jesse, warmed her a bottle under hot water and got out to the car only to see that she had lost it in the back seat with her. I took the other one off and after she had all she was gonna have, it was time to go. I find out we are on a one way street and I have no frigging clue as to how I am getting back on the interstate. I was all insecure about the KFC, so I didn't even bother to go in and ask Ms. Ghetto Thang behind the counter for directions. I called L because he knows Charelston better than I do. Or, so I thought. That wound up being a fight. So, I got on the road and just went wherever because I had decided that that would be how I would find my way back on the interstate. It worked. I was lost in Ghetto Land for nearly an hour, but it worked. Made it home late to Mom's, but it was all good. Saturday-I don't think we did anything but stay around the house. I don't remember. Sunday-EASTER-This was a joy and a half. Know this first: My Grandma (mom's mom) has a sister, call her Polly, who really can't see well and basically other family members have to take care of her. So, their other sister, Dixie, who usually takes care of Polly, took her to my grandma's for what was supposed to be the weekend-Friday to Sunday evening-wound up going home on Monday-and left her. Polly has a birthday coming up, and she has a room that she wants painted in her house so Grandma has this grand idea that she will buy paint for her, take her to Quiznos to see some old friends and basically let her have a day of whatever she wanted. So, our Sunday has been planned. Also, you need to know that my grandma is a control freak and she has to have her way or she stubs up and pouts like a little girl. She has a BRAND NEW car because she traded in her old BRAND NEW car that she had had maybe a little over a year (it was like new because she hardly drove it anywhere) because it was making some kind of noise. (One of those kinds of deals where it would have been cheaper to go to a mechanic and the car was not falling apart) So, yeah, Mom, Jesse and I meet Grandma and Aunt Polly at my Aunt Karen's house and we leave from there. Grandma is driving the car until we get to the bottom of the on ramp to the interstate...she makes Mom drive because she doesn't know Beckley (which is where we're spending the day) well. We're seconds from joining traffic on the interstate when my GRANDMA says "Don't go over 65." "But, Mother, the speed limit is 70." "I don't care. Don't go over 65. Garland (her husband) was driving the other day and he went over 65 and I got all over him." So, fine. She didn't go over 65. We went about the day.... shopped and I wasa raging pajama queen-got a pink set of pj's (that I have to take back because they don't fit me) and this cool looking pair of black pj bottom pants with reddish pink flowers on them at Gaberial's. We're coming out of the parking lot and there's a stray buggy near the road. Mom starts telling this story about when she was with someone from work and they were in a residential area. There was a stray bugy that went out in the road. So, I said: "Wow, that could really cause a wreck." My GRANDMA says, "I'd be afraid it would scratch my car!" I said, "Yeah, well, you can REPLACE the car." She never said another word. All day long it was like that with her car. Kid you not, she wouldn't let Mom park it near other cars for fear of a scratch! We were on the interstate and someone towing a trailor tried to get over and almost ran us off the road. My grandma pipes up about him almosty scraching the car! We parked at WalMart and after we had found our parking spot and pulled in, she made Mom pull out and re-park the car! WTF? So, we're FINALLY heading back to Aunt Karen's to drop off Polly and Grandma. Grandma was in the back with Jesse and me while Polly was up front with Mom. I can tell the car is going a little faster...she pokes her head up front and says, "What's going on up there?" No one says a thing and after a few seconds, Grandma says, "P (not telling you my Mom's name), you better slow it down, you're going a little to fast." (Later, Mom told me that she had let it get to 71 or something) So, she slowed down to 65. In order to get to my Aunt Karen's house, you have to go up a road that is off the main road-it's straight uphill. Grandma told my Mom to gear down to third??? Can anyone explain why you would do this going UPhill????? I tend to think it would be detremental to your breaks??? After dropping them off, we went straight home and on the way we talked about how absurd it was that Grandma was so fanatical about that car and valuing it over her life (or so it seemed). Like it was made of gold! Like it was millions of dollars!!! You can fix a scratch for Christ's sake! Monday-Mom and Jeff went to work, Jesse and I stayed at the house and played all day. Tuesday- My doctor's appointment. Things were fine until Mom asked the dreaded> question: "Are you taking your medicine?" (the Remeron) I'm a moron and I don't know when to lie to my Mom. Or, maybe it's that I know that she hates a lie and when I try to lie to her, I get caught so I may as well face the music with the thruth. I had been taking it, but I forgot it when I came to visit her. So, in that sense, no, I hadn't been taking it and I told her that I hadn't been. She says, "Bethany..." "Oh, here it comes..." I get sick and tired of her lecturing me!! We had decided on the fact that the Remeron was doing nothing other than help me sleep and I don't need to feel so sluiggish all the time. She goes into this speil about how I can't just go off of it so abrubtly, how it has symptoms like Altzimers, it will kill me, yadda yadda yadda... I tell her that she's wrong, I have an immunity to this stuff and if it doesn't help, what's the point? I also told her that she really shouldn't ask about my meds because it's a sensitive subject that always causes a fight. She replies with that's fine. If I wanted to shut people out of my life and live the way I do with no interests, that was fine. It escalated to the night I went hysterical on the phone with her. (It's in the archives) She said that I talked to her like a dog and that she was sick for 2 days. I did not. I told her that I was only telling her how I felt. I forget what she said but it's had me thinking today: Did it ever dawn on her that maybe that is how I am? When I hurt like that, that is how I react and somehow try to deal with the pain that I feel? I have been that way since I was a kid and I just kept it hidden from her because I was worried about what she would think?? I wish I could never hurt in front of her again. I'm never telling her how I feel again. Anyway, I talked to the doctor and told him the meds were not helping. He's put me on Welbutrin. I don't have any samples and I haven't gotten the prescription filled, but when I do and I start taking it, you can bet I'll be here talking about it. I don't like that I'll be on pills. I don't like that my Mom seems to think that pills are the answer to everything because she is on Effexor. I was watching a Roseanne re-run as I often do and she said something that I really liked. I'm gonna quote it but not word for word because I can't remember it that way. "Women who yell don't need pills. Men invented pills to shut up women who yell."
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