Tim's dad has been at the rehab facility for 8 days now. There was a meeting yesterday to plan his short- to medium-term care; the upshot is that the various clinicians/OTs/PTs think he ought to stay there for another week and then move to a skilled nursing facility with the highest level of care, because he can't do any of the ADLs (activities of daily living -- dressing, bathing, feeding himself, getting in or out of bed, using the bathroom) without 2 people to help him.

Adding his dementia into the mix makes it so much worse -- he doesn't know where he is, or why he's even there. He doesn't remember that he had a stroke. It really, really sucks.

Another thing that sucks is that I haven't told my dad yet that Tim's dad had a stroke, because my dad meets every bit of information about someone else's health problem with an instant litany of 30 godforsaken years of his own health problems (LIKE WE DON'T ALREADY KNOW ALL OF IT) (WE WERE THERE GANDALF). He doesn't even pause to say "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that; how's he doing? How is Tim handling it?" He just immediately launches into his own shit, none of which is new. Which is (1) fucking rude, (2) draining in the Colin Robinson energy vampire way, and (3) effective at making people not want to talk to him.

I'll have to tell him at some point, but I don't have the spoons to do it yet. (When I told my therapist this week that I hadn't told my dad about Tim's dad's stroke, she high-fived me.)

That sounds like the sort of thing email and other non-realtime methods of notification are made for, Steph!

I spoke too soon, the sliding door fell out of its mounting with a resounding crash and shattered both mirrors over my bed frame this afternoon. Oh well, at least it didn't pick late at night to fall on the bed when I'd have been in it (and poor Molly probably would have left a cat-shaped hole in the wall fleeing in terror).

I spoke too soon, the sliding door fell out of its mounting with a resounding crash and shattered both mirrors over my bed frame this afternoon.

Shoulda used a higher-denomination coin than pennies. (I know nothing about home repair, but I know if you act like a big spender, your household bits and pieces will respond accordingly.)

{{{Tep}}} I like your therapist.

Bummer, Matt! Also yikes.

Tom Scola posting

He posted yesterday in the Marvel thread.

FB and Tumblr, yes. Also IG, I think. (Now I feel like a creeper.)

I think Tom Scola fandom is a legitimate part of the Buffista experience.

Teppy, I'm sorry everything is so hard with Tim's dad. I hope you find a way to mention it t your own that lets him know NOT NOW DAD.

My mom likes to tell me, in depth, about everyone's illnesses. And I mean, I'm kind of medical detail girl myself, but she gets in too deep (and it's about everyone -- not just family, but people like her friend's boyfriend). Lately, I've been interrupting her and telling her, "I can't talk this much about it, Mom. It's bad for my anxiety." If I wait too long, I usually end up blurting out something less graceful, like: "I can't have this conversation, Mom."

It's okay to take care of yourself, Tep, even if it isn't an anxiety issue, you don't have to listen to the litany, and it's okay if you change the conversation.

That sounds like the sort of thing email and other non-realtime methods of notification are made for, Steph!

Or what Matt said. Matt, that's very smart.

I don't even check my email accounts any more, unless someone tells me I have to, because they sent me a thing.

I spoke too soon, the sliding door fell out of its mounting with a resounding crash and shattered both mirrors over my bed frame this afternoon. Oh well, at least it didn't pick late at night to fall on the bed when I'd have been in it (and poor Molly probably would have left a cat-shaped hole in the wall fleeing in terror).

Good timing aside, that sucks. I'm sorry.

Yikes Matt that sucks. Cleaning up glass is the worst.

That sounds like the sort of thing email and other non-realtime methods of notification are made for, Steph!

My dad is the stereotypical 80-year-old who can't use a computer. And he does have a cellphone -- it's a flip phone, but those still do text and voicemail. But he has never been able to even learn how to check voicemail on his cell phone, and texting is not in his wheelhouse.

It's okay to take care of yourself, Tep, even if it isn't an anxiety issue, you don't have to listen to the litany, and it's okay if you change the conversation.

It's not anxiety on my part; it's that it's fucking hurtful that he's so rude he can't even say "I'm sorry to hear that." I'm really not joking when I say the conversation goes like this:

Dad: "How are you?"
Me: "You know how I'm super clumsy? I sprained my ankle building a snowman, which I bet no one has ever done before, and I can't believe how much it hurts!"
Dad, with absolutely no pause and no transition: [Something about his shoulder surgery from 6 years prior.]
Me: "Um...did you hear what I said to you, that I hurt my ankle today?"
Dad: "Yeah, why?"
Me: "I though you might say 'That sucks; I'm sorry to hear that,' since, you know, I'm YOUR KID, and that should matter to you."
Dad, who laughs first, and notably does NOT say 'I'm sorry to hear that': "Yeah, okay. Anyway, [back into the shoulder surgery story]"
Me: "Are you kidding me? I tell you I injured myself and you can't even offer any sympathy?"
Dad: "Where's the sympathy for ME?"
Me: "...for an outpatient surgery you had SIX YEARS AGO? What are you talking about?!?"

Fuck that shit. The only way to manage is to not give him a conversational opening, so my brother and I don't tell him anything remotely related to our health or the health of anyone, ever. It doesn't stop him from unleashing the droning litany of shit we already know by heart, but at least it's less overtly hurtful because we didn't give him an opportunity to exert a little compassion that he failed at spectacularly.

That really sucks Teppy. I'm sorry you have to go through that.

I haven't seen Tom Scola posting here in a couple of weeks. Have people seen him around on FB or the like?

He's had some really nice photographs posted in the last few days so he may be focused on that again.

Ahhhhh I finally got into my ERP. After 3 weeks and a couple of days.

I can imagine the level of frustration after that length of time. Yikes.

I spoke too soon, the sliding door fell out of its mounting with a resounding crash and shattered both mirrors over my bed frame this afternoon.

Oh no! Sounds like it could have been worse?

I'm sorry, Teppy! Yes, I also send a high five as your therapist is quite correct. No reason you need to discuss this until you are ready. How is Tim doing with his father's grave turn?