Three weeks ago, on the advice and under the supervision of her well-meaning but narcissistic psycho-pharmacologist, Mrs. G. eliminated an antidepressant from her prescription lineup.
Entries in Mental (85)
A couple of weeks ago, some punk thugs went up and down Mrs. G's street rifling and stealing items from unlocked cars. Mrs. G's wallet and prescription sunglasses were stolen.
Derf Naomi D. sent this video to Mrs. G. Mrs. G. can only assume Naomi thought she might be able to relate to it. And she can. Mrs. G. has played most of these parts at one time or another.
Last night Mrs. G's daughter called from Boston and whispered into the phone that a mouse was in her bedroom closet.
"Why are you whispering?" Mrs. G. asked.
"Because I can hear him crawling around on my shoes. Mom, he's touching my shoes," she said as if this explained anything.
"Ok, tell me what happened," Mrs. G. said, her tried and true method of bringing family and friends off the ledge. Plus, she never gets tired of playing Mom with Wisdom. It's much more satisfying than the oft designated role of Mom Who Doesn't Get Anything.
"Well, he skittered under my bedroom door, there was a clear acknowledgement and then he skittered under my closet door," Miss G. explained.
"What exactly do you mean by an 'acknowledgement?'"
"We had a moment where we looked at each other and both knew we were in a bad scene.
"Here's the good news," said Mrs. G, "this is not a Quentin Tarantino movie. It's just a little mouse and he will probably find a crack in the closet to escape since he is as scared of you as you are of him. The bad news is that you are going to have to open the door and investigate or you will never sleep."
"Do mice lunge?" she asked in all seriousness.
"No, child, mice do not lunge. You're going to have to face your fear. I will not get off this phone until this situation is settled. You have to open the door."
Miss G. agreed and went to get a broom.
She was gone a long time.
"I'm back," she said. "I went to shove a towel under Kim's (her sleeping roommate) door crack in case the mouse should run in that direction." Mrs. G's daughter is thoughtful and sweet even when she's up shit creek. She always has been.
"Have you got the broom?" Mrs. G. asked.
"I've got the broom."
"Slowly open the door and step back," Mrs. G. advised.
"Do mice travel in packs," Miss G. asked, clearly stalling.
"DO YOU REMEMBER STUART LITTLE TRAVELING IN A PACK. MOTORCYCLE RALPH? LAW & ORDER IS ON IN TWENTY MINUTES AND YOUR DAD'S MAKING BUTTERED POPCORN. OPEN THAT DAMNED DOOR."
Miss G. inhaled and opened the door and Mrs. G. could hear her beating the holy hell out of everything in her closet.
Several minutes passed, with Mrs. G. screaming, "Do you see it? Do you see it?" only to be met with the sound of a broom thwacking, perhaps, the entire city of Boston.
"He's not in here," she said, breathing heavily. "I've swept out all my shoes, turned over all my boots and jiggled all my clothing. He's not in here."
"I told you, " Mrs. G. said, "he found a crack or a hole and escaped. He's probably got an established route."
"So, you really think he's gone?"
"Yes, I really do." He's gone... gone somewhere else in that apartment, thought Mrs. G, but she kept that to herself. In regard to rodents, the truth is overrated.
Her shoes safe, her courage restored, Miss G. hung up the phone.
Benson, Stabler and buttered popcorn aside, Mrs. G. savors these calls. A mama needs her girl.
Last night Mrs. G. dreamed she was filming a love scene with Brad Pitt. Mrs. G. can't recall what the movie was about, but she is sure it was one you could watch in your neighborhood Cineplex. Also, if Mr. G. or her children are reading this, Mrs. G. was fully clothed from the waist down.
Also, if Mr. G. or Mrs. G's children are reading this, Brad was nuzzling her neck discussing String Theory and Schrodinger's Cat, and Mrs. G. sat up and asked him point blank if she was supposed to "act" for the cameras or just naturally let go. Just let go.
And just like that, poof, Brad was gone.
Mrs. G. supposes it was some kind of bullshit lesson on staying in the moment and keeping her counsel. Has she mentioned she hates bullshit lessons...and staying in the moment (there are so many other places to be) and keeping her counsel?
Learn from Mrs. G's mistakes. Please. Someone needs to.