Attack of the Ads?

 So it’s 3:30 in the morning, Lily has woken me up again, and all I’m seeing are pharmaceutical and cancer ads on my iPad—who needs this frightening stuff at this hour, it’s not Halloween, guess this is what you have to contend with if you cannot afford the stream services ad-free. Oh well, so much for hoping I could fall asleep in my recliner, I’m now absolutely petrified I’m on death’s door, so I guess I’ll just sit here in my hospital den room, shivering under blankets because it’s so cold in here. Maybe I’ll turn the heat up, even though I’m convinced our furnace is broken. OK, here goes.

Furnace is now up to 70, jazz is playing on Pandora. I had some very vivid dreams, I recall a segment where I was talking to Alicia on a Uniden phone that had belonged to Andi, and Big Lou was on the bed with me. Lish and I were talking about Andi, who was still alive but in very bad shape. Then I looked out the windows (I was back in my old City Park Ave. apartment) and someone was trying to steal my golf cart out of my garage, as Big Lou and Nell ran around barking. Strange stuff, but it all makes sense to me, my mind sifting back through memories where I felt angry and violated in the past. I don’t think I’m going to be whole until I can fully recover from those disturbing things I saw on Zoom and Wastebook, and let’s also throw in those menacing dog teeth someone sent me on Messenger. Who’s gonna be compensating all of us who have been damaged? No one?

I am left with just seeing how the Supreme Court decides to handle social media in their case beginning February 21, two days hence. I’ve asked mom to be on the lookout for WSJ coverage, this case brought by the family of a woman killed by ISIS, who organized through YouTube. I say the Buck Stops when people get seriously hurt—who’s responsible, we shall see. I say drag all the perpetrators into court, don’t let them hide simply by firing them, haul them before a judge(s) and admit wrongdoing and make restitution. Mom is wrong, there are indeed victims, and they need to be made whole again. 

So now, what to do about Lily and these early morning wake-up calls? Surely I’ve got to put a stop to this, how, I’m not quite sure yet. I know she needs a companion. It’s easy enough to bring a male Basset puppy in here, but that’s a huge undertaking, one I’m not so sure we are ready to tackle again. I like perhaps the option of getting serious feelers out there for a young male Basset, aged 2-4, already named, so that pressure is off of us. But Michael is saying we need another place, probably in the country, if we are serious about two hounds. I see his point, but when is that going to happen? Honestly, reader(s), I see us moving straight from this place into mom’s condo, when she passes. Rosalie Goodsell recommends that, anyways. Three-bedroom condo, pool on premises, hospital right down the street. It’s all there. Makes perfect sense. Right? But then there’s the issue of the electric ovens…whoops. Might be a deal breaker.

Yet wait a minute, I’m intrigued, we can honestly afford to buy the condo outright, work out fair distribution to my brother and sister, just keep all of mom’s furniture and move right in there. I don’t think the neighbors would mind, unless of course we let the yard go to pot, but I think Michael would keep it tidy…wouldn’t he? Would he like sitting on mom’s patio, would he eat at the breakfast room table, or maybe let me serve him dinner in the dining room? Might we even entertain, could that be a possibility? Dare I let myself get excited at the possibility that maybe my childhood memories, the good ones, are all stored at mom’s, waiting for me, and I might have a happy ending?

But let’s not put mom in the grave yet, nope, it’s not her time. Back to my place here, Lily, all the clothes strewn about upstairs, my art show in May. No need to think about moving, a massive undertaking, something which promises to be stressful indeed. Let’s get back to basics, One Day At A Time, today it’s blueberry oatmeal and cheese eggs for brunch, an Italian pot roast for dinner. I need to go to CVS and we need more coffee. It would be nice to do some walking, even though it’s cold outside. Of course I need to check in on mom, who, poor thing, is still testing positive for Covid, despite a consistently low temperature. I picked up some extra chicken salad for her yesterday, paid for it myself and I feel good about that. Used my meager checking account monies. It’s all good.

Yes I’m feeling better now, here at 6:03 a.m. That’s what a little writing (and a little jazz and Joe) can do for you. I’ll end here with a prayer:

Dear God, I’m going to try my best to turn things over to you when it comes to planning my future. I do so want to try and manipulate Michael to buy into my ideas, but maybe God you are in charge of us both and already have a happy ending planned for us. God, watch over mom today, keep her calm and carrying on. And God, watch over Legs, who I’m sure is making a racket up in heaven. We miss him down here, but this quiet is kinda nice. Amen.