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2007-03-11 - 11:59 p.m.

Too Crabby To Knit

I won my eBay auction! Those final few minutes are so exciting and then you win (!!) and realize now you have to pay.

Ohhhhhhh, right.

But I only have to fork over $25 (six dollars less than my max bid), and it IS going towards horse rescue, so yay and cool "go me" beans.

In between checking the auction, I managed to get a few more inches done on my scarf. The length and weight is getting cumbersome, and I still have 10 inches to go (or until my skein runs out). Furthermore, knitting was unpleasant today. I feel tense and edgy. And I know exactly why.

Dad has been sitting/sleeping/mumbling in that goddamned wingback chair over in the family room since SATURDAY MORNING AT 8:30 AM. He hasn't gone upstairs to bed since the first night he got here! KEEEEE-RIST, people.

Now, he did go outside and sit on the porch a few times, sat with me at the kitchen table for a few hours tonight (joy!), and has toddled over to the little half bath around the corner, but that's it. It's driving me and mom NUTS. His presence lingering in the background ALL THE TIME feels like something creepy is touching our shoulders.

Between naps, he babbles about this and that, but he doesn't want to read, watch TV or listen to music. We've got the TV swiveled facing us, so he can hear it ("turn it down!") and apparently he sorta follows along and then blurts out questions when he can't figure out what's happening (don't even ask how many times we've offered to turn the TV his way).

For example, Stephen King's "The Langoliers" was on Sci-Fi this afternoon which is about a group of passengers on a flight who wind up in some sort of time-space rift, disconnected from the rest of the world.

Dad: "What, are they in a boat?"

Us: "No, a plane."

Dad: "What's that noise? It sounds like water."

Me: "The plane is going down the runway at the moment."

Dad: "So where are they?"

Mom: "The Bangor airport in Maine, honey."

Dad: "Did you guys go to Bangor on your trip last year?"

Me: "No Dad, we never made it all the way up to Maine."

Dad: "Yeah, ok. So what are the people doing now? Why are they yelling?"

OH MY LORD. WATCH THE FUCKING SHOW, OR SHUT YOUR TRAP!

I was going back and forth between knitting and doodling around online at the time, so I wasn't even paying attention. But I'd seen the movie before a couple times and the more questions he asked, the more short I became with him (I don't even think he noticed).

Dad: "Wait...are they in water NOW?"

Me: "NO. There's no water."

And I can't tell you how many times he asked "Is this Charlie's Angels?"

WTF?

"No, dad."

"Oh, ok. But it sounds like Charlie's Angels."

"Trust me, it's not," I replied.

"That guy's voice reminds me of the Charlie guy," he mumbled.

"Oh yeah, I guess so...a little. That's Dean...whats-his-face. He was in 'Quantum Leap' and was a child actor. I'll check on the internet real quick."

"Stockwell," he suddenly blurted out, to my surprise. (He remembers shit like that, but NEVER where he left his car keys).

"Yep, that's it, Dad!"

"He used to be a child actor, you know," he replied, authoritatively.

"That's what I just said, Dad."

"Oh."

Then we don't hear him say anything for awhile and we realize he's nodded off.

This is going to be a looooong week.

I should head to bed (it's nearly 1 am now), but I'm tired/wired. Maybe I'll finish the last chapter of The Devil Wears Prada (nothing like reading about high fashion in the crapper), so I can finally find out if Ahn-dre-ah! tells witchy bitchy Miranda what she can do with her white Hermes scarf. I'm hoping it involves the use of the "C" word in all caps. And shitloads of exclamation points.

*squinting eyes and savoring the thought*

I'll catch you guys on the flip side. I hope I don't dream about rowing a boat with knitting needles on an episode of "Charlie's Angels."

But I wouldn't be surprised.