Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers
cydniey

Dear Diary, Freaking out Now

Dear Diary,


An hour ago I was completely losing it. I talked to Doc around 3 this morning, and we did not get along at all. He all but hung up on me, I’ve broken him of that, though. He was being very terse and hyper-critical and suspicious and generally nasty. At the same time, he was pouring out his emotions and memories, so it was a really conflicting call.


When I woke up, I didn’t want him to come home if he was going to be like her, his mom, which he was being on the phone. It’s getting to him. He has decided to talk to her as she talks to him, and she keeps running to his sister to tell her Doc yelled at her. So Doc is getting nothing but shit and guilt. She even gave him shit while he was washing her damn feet.


I also had a series of extreme anxiety dreams. I relived last week when he left and we were running out of time. I lived other stress dreams of the same theme, only I had to leave, and nothing was ready, especially me. I took my hair down and I had dark red 80’s hair all of a sudden, and I couldn’t get it tied back and I didn’t have time to wet it down. And then there was this interrogation room, very Soviet era. War stories seeping through.


I also woke up with  a vicious lack-of-caffeine headache. So I made myself, in desperation, a cup of black coffee with brown sugar. I have found a new way to take my coffee. And it got rid of my headache about the same time my meds got rid of the melancholia and anxiety. An hour and a half, and a conversation with Doc later, and I am feeling much better.


24 hours from now, he will be snoring on that couch over there. Or maybe in his bed. But he will be here. And I can take a shower! I thought I would be able to, but I couldn’t.


Speaking of which, his mom hasn’t showered since his dad left, because she is too modest to let anyone else see her naked. Which is why Doc was washing her feet. She has to wear serious shoes and thick socks, so they get stinky. I feel so bad for this woman. She is living my nightmare. Though she doesn’t think so, she thinks she is free. His dad was a bit harsh to her near the end because he was dealing with his own extreme pain. So he wouldn’t do everything for her, and to her, that is mean.


She keeps handing Doc stuff to take home with him that was his dads. He spoke up and said, “Aren’t we mourning, here? I don’t mean to sit Shiva or anything, but it’s the first week. Isn’t it a little soon to start dividing up his stuff?” He was met with silence. He went into his old room, and stayed there through dinner.


He hooked up with an old friend, and planned to spend an hour with him today and then get a ride to the train station for a ticket to the airport. But his sister nixed that, scolding him that he was cutting into his time with his mother. No, he wasn’t, he explained. But he cancelled his plans, anyway. Which sucks. Because he won’t spend that time with his mother, he will spend it getting ready to go and walking to the train and taking it into the city and walking to the station to catch the bus to the airport. A three hour oddessy, at least. Because his brother in law can’t be bothered to take him to the airport. Prick.


This whole thing has been a nightmare for Doc. The bright spot was part of the funeral, but not all of it. He felt the looks from people throwing shade over his disappearing act 16 years ago. Jesus Christ! He has the right to live his life. It is not his job, as the youngest and most reviled, to swoop in and save the day, or be there forever for them. Kids grow up, they leave, they live their own lives. No one is supposed to make them feel guilty for that. And his sister can piss off. She’s taking over as the matriarch of the family, and is fitting into mom’s role very neatly. She’s lost all respect for Doc, that’s a start.


I can’t wait for him to get home and relax. Sleep. He has no booze in the house, that sucks. I should tell him to go to the pub before he gets home. Then catch an Uber from there.


He’s going to be pissed at me next week. I ordered stuff, not much, but from a lot of places. Luckily, he is not home when the mail comes. All I want him to see is finished product. He doesn’t need to see the sausage works.


My bad day is slowly turning into a good day. I think I may work on the studio tonight. It’s supposed to be nice this weekend. I can work in the studio. I have to rig a way to hang my speakers, they are against the kitchen wall right now and the bass thumps through the house when I am out there. I have plenty of wire, this should be no problem.

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