What Fell Friday

This is the Matron's living room. You can see by Gleaming Floor and Wide Open Space that she is the tidy sort. Indeed, not only is she tidy, she suffers from a case of Incurable Clutter Brain Suck.

This means that if her environs are messy and disorganized, her brain is too. She simply cannot function. Clutter and clump make her crabby and disoriented. Definitely not in the mood for love.

At the moment, not only is Incurable Clutter Brain Suck rendering her lovely self nearly psychotic, so is the dratted bacterial infection in her arm, which is not getting better. Just tonight, she switched to antibiotic #2, allowing the Hypochondrical Lobe masquerading as her brain to completely take over.

Nobody has more bookmarked links to "flesh eating bacteria." She'd bet good money.

Friends. She is in Fine Form. Thank God-Buddha-Oprah-Allah-Universe you do not live with her. She is not nearly so much fun in person.

Today--in such a tangled state -- she finally turned a corner over JUNK ON THE FLOOR. You see, the Matron spends many many of her precious minutes moving items from one spot in the house to another.

It is that simple: move an item from one spot to the place it belongs.

Strker's backpack is still where he left it when he came home from school. Ditto for his shoes--oh, and Scarlett's and Merrick's. John has had the same insurance bill on the kitchen counter for ten days. Snack? Drop it when you're done. Take Satan's Familiar on a walk? Just let go of the leash when you walk in the door. Phone? Forget about it. Far from nestling in their receivers, handsets are scattered throughout the house. The Matron cannot remember the last time someone replaced the scissors in her office after they used it.

Moving items from where they are left to where they belong.

Today, the Matron snapped. She is documenting the dysfunction (okay hers or theirs?)!

See this scrap of paper?



The Matron has no idea where it came from or who dropped it. But she does know this: she first noticed it at the bottom of the basement stairs on Friday, September 4 -- one week ago today.

Since then, nobody has touched it. The paper remains. Nobody has vacuumed, swept or otherwise concerned themselves with this small, unimportant -- but COMPLETELY visible --scrap of paper.Also on Friday, September 4, one week ago today, the Matron observed this Coke Zero can taking refuge underneath the living room radiator.

She decided not to touch it. Not ever. Armageddon will be upon her and she'll be all "don't mess with that can." Just to see if that can could possibly outlive her, untouched. This experiment started one week ago. The can endures. She figures someone other than her tidy self walks by that can 12 million times a day. Nothing.

John? Stryker? Don't you see that can!? Is it not KILLING you to put it in the recycling?!

Finally, also on September 4 (did she mention that is ONE WEEK AGO) she also noticed this barrette dropped in front of the basement bathroom door. You must actually take note of this item in order to not step on its edges and hurt the tender foot.


Still, on Day Seven, as the Lord rested, so do her husband and children. All the time.

These three items remain on the floor, where they fell, at least one week ago today. She will update you next Friday to see if someone else besides HER moves items from where they fall to where they belong -- or, if her husband is reading this blog.

What Would You Do?

Regular readers (by God there are now over 200 a day! small potatoes but the Matron adores any attention in triple digits) know that instead of the regular human brain, the Matron has a special hypochondrial lobe, gray matter that routinely goes into over-drive and outruns the rest of the cells.

So yesterday's diagnosis of cellulitis (from a bug bite, how ignoble) spun her into an hour online uncovering the perils of flesh-eating bacteria. She went to bed with a black sharpie drawn around the parameters of her infection AND she took a picture. All so she could document her demise.

Not happening. Demise, that is. The redness has faded just a hair and stopped growing. Still, this is not dramatic improvement which is why she's composing with a low grade fever and game arm. She is THAT addicted to attention.

But today, the real story in the Matronly Universe is Jekyll, the 16 1/2 year old deaf, blind dog.

The Matron had a staggering realization: she is keeping him alive for the children.

About two weeks ago, Jekyll took one more downward spiral. Yes, he can walk, but it takes him a solid three to five minutes to move from laying to standing or visa versa. Actually, sometimes he just falls down when he's walking and goes to sleep right there.

This past year of blindness and deafness, Jekyll still loved his food and a snuggle. Ear stroking and treats warranted sigh of joy. But now? He appears confused by the tender touch -- sometimes snarls. He starts to eat his little bowl of chow but then loses track of where that bowl could possibly be hiding and falls over.

Worse. Ever. He spends all of his waking hours standing with his snout jutted into some corner, shaking. Then he drops over and sleeps.

The Matron isn't even bothered by the fact that he drips pee anymore. It's this pathetic pained existence that consumes her.

Two years ago, the Matron and her family put the regal Thurston 'to rest.' If she didn't have a LIFE THREATENING bacterial infection and a fever, she'd repost a heartbreaking picture. Instead, scroll down to the right and see 'best dog ever.'

The children went with them.

It went badly.

To watch their dog DIE -- to go from alive (yes, dying and in pain and unable to walk but ALIVE) to dead within a heartbeat, shook those youth to their core. They have not recovered.

Merrick: "Wemembew when we killed Thuwston?"

Yes, her children still speak with regret of the day they pulled the plug on their beloved. She just can't do it again.

They guard Jekyll, jealous and careful.

Stryker: "But Jekyll's doing okay, right Mom? I mean, he's not in any pain, so we just wait this out."

Merrick: "PLEASE DON'T KILL JEKYLL!"

Scarlett just weeps when she watches him. The Matron refuses to even say the dog's name in her presence.

But.

What about Jekyll?

Is it okay to be alive, standing in a corner and shaking - and nothing else? Even if you're not in visible pain? Or is this just old age -- get over it -- and deal?

She just imagines herself at 102 (because she is special) and her children debating, pulling that plug.

Help! What would you do?

Flesh Eating Bacteria!

Okay, hopefully not.

But today the Matron decided that when the red spot around your indeterminate bug bite spreads to eight inches, it's a good idea to visit the doc.

Cellulitis.

Fever. Chills.

Add to this mix 97 unread Discussion Posts in her online class and the growing realization the Scarlett is NOT in Annie but Peyton's Place. omigod.

Stage Mother to daughter: "No matter what, do not gossip or talk about other actors. Rise above. Be a complete professional."

Scarlett: "This is going to be interesting."

Indeed.

Pass the wine and antibiotics! Good thing she never tried heroin. She'd be done for.

First Day of School!

Oh, the Matron has chills, just typing that title! There is nothing that she does not like about the first day of school: new shoes, still intact; piles of clean notebooks and sharp pencils; crisper air and renewed spirit!

The campus of her little community college is just packed with zeal and commitment! Yes, yes, there are Actual Students. But the bulk are trying their best and some against unspeakable odds (like not having a computer for your online class). There is no room in the parking lot! The library is wall to wall! It if Fall, the season to open the cedar chest and start over.

Today, the Matron nudged her own offspring out into the educational world as well. Terrified.

Just terrified that the state-run PUBLIC school is being tainted by the State, as in federal government. But wait!? Isn't the PUBLIC school part of a state system that's part of a national system and the nation's top gun is the President?! Um. . . don't they make the laws that help govern schools and set state policy up there in Washington? If you go to to a PUBLIC school, hasn't the invasive government sort of shaped every minute of your day ALREADY.

People!

Well of course the President shouldn't say "good luck and work hard!" to students. Now, this sort of insanity terrifies the Matron, the President saying work hard, and all. Remember George W. Bush Sr.? He addressed the school children. Good God - what was she thinking! She should have totally boycotted school that day (her own, that is, being well before children). She must be totally brainwashed at this point, so steeped in public education is she.

Ronald Regan? Yup. Him too. Not only did Ronald Regan give a first day of school pep talk, he actually once referenced a "suppressed study" revealing that "80% of pollution comes not from chimneys and auto exhaust pipes, but from plants and trees." Perhaps that little gem is only logical coming from a President who also thought that "facts are stupid things."

It was totally okay that the intellectually under-endowed President Regan gave advice to vulnerable school children -- but the Harvard educated President should keep his mouth shut.

Despite such insanity, the Matron did indeed send her impressionable children to school for further state indoctrination, starting with Stryker at 7:11 am. This meant the ever-anxious Matron started waking around 5, fearful of missing the bus.

5:02

5:04

5:10

Sigh. . . . the alarm went off at 6:30.

Happy eighth grade, Stryker!

Later, John and the Matron brought the younger set to their hippy dippy groovy PUBLIC Montessori School for further state footprint on forehead. A sixth-grader, Scarlett told her first-grade brother this:

"Sixth-graders rule the school, you know."

Not in the tone of "don't worry baby brother I got your back" but more or less the same threatening tenor she deploys to get him out of her bedroom.

And the Matron and her husband met with the principal about their concern over Merrick's classroom situation, a little pot of worry recently stirred up by the fact that Merrick's best friend is in the same classroom. So her child - -who STILL can't read and doesn't like school -- now conveniently has his best friend to distract him from the fact that he IS in school and should be working -- all day long.

Thank God-Buddha-Allah-Oprah-Universe, the principal is a dream. The Matron feels 100% confident that the school will do its best to help her guy. The Matron herself learned a humble little lesson about jumping to conclusions and giving a teacher a chance. You think she would know better . . but yet . . . not only did she NOT know better than to judge a teacher before giving her a chance, she plans to offer Merrick CASH for school work. Yes! The PhD teacher Matron has no pedagogical resort other than good old fashioned bribery.

Maybe SHE should be the one to address the nation's schoolchildren!? Do you think they take checks?