Que Sera Sera

[mallorys_camera]

The New Yorker hits it out of the ballpark with this cover.

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I got all the answers right on the IRS certification exam. It was a difficult exam, too.

###

And I’m ready to go back to being a grasshopper, jumping from shiny green leaf to shiny green leaf, playing Que Sera Sera on my hind legs because the life of an ant, struggling to push those oversized corn grains, constantly worrying & agonizing over some future that may or may not materialize, is a real fucking drag.

I love my kids, but goddam it, Ichabod just irritated the shit out of me on the phone yesterday.

I told him I really wasn’t sold on long-term care insurance. That I would have to ponder it longer. “Here’s the deal, Ichabod,” I said. “Long-term care insurance counts as an asset, which would make it harder for me to qualify for Medicaid assistance. But any long-term care insurance I could afford really doesn’t reimburse at a level much higher than Medicaid. So, in practical terms, it’s not a sound value proposition.”

“Well, it’s your decision, of course, Mom,” Ichabod said. “But at some point, we need to have a lengthier conversation about this—"

And I thought, Given the fact that at least 25% of every phone conversation we’ve had for the past three months has been about ‘What do we do with Mom when she starts peeing on herself?’ I’d say we’ve already had that lengthy conversation.

“—and it might be a good idea if you got yourself checked out by a neurologist—”

This was an insult.

“Why?” I asked. “Have you noticed any evidence of cognitive decline when you’ve talked to me?”

“No-o-o-ooooo. But RTT has said some things to me—”

Oh, great, I thought. Triangulation!!! RTT should really take care of his own cognitive issues before he points his finger at me.

I felt like slamming down the phone at this point.

But I did not.

Instead, I said very calmly, “Cognition is something I keep a very close eye on because of the history of dementia in my mother’s family. I can assure you there’s been no decline in my cognition. There has been a rise in my levels of anxiety because I need to figure out a suitable living situation within the next four months. Cognition and anxiety are not the same thing.

“And also, of course, what I can never say in front of RTT—because any mention of the word is intensely triggering to him—is that should I begin noticing any decline in my cognition, I will move to Vermont or Oregon to take advantage of their liberal assisted suicide laws—”

At this point, I was tempted to throw in a Soylent Green joke!

But judged it prudent not to.

Inappropriate humor might be taken as a symptom of impaired cognition, right?

But I am not gonna end up like Annie.

###

Anyway, the entire phone conversation with Ichabod made me think, Fuck all this. I am sick of being anxious! All I really want to do is travel and write shimmering, startling, beautiful words. Those are the two things that give me strength! And I need to be strong. I want to be strong.

###

For whatever reason, Ichabod & RTT prefer me to be weak. There’s a certain satisfaction in that role reversal thing, I guess. (Cue Rolling Stones playing, Under My Thumb.)

But I am done with being in perpetual panic mode.

I am what I am, boyZ!

It will all work out.