My mother was supposed to get released from the hospital earlier this week, but she fell out of a chair. Because she'd had a stroke... Probably her second one in 5 days, which explains the whole, found on the bathroom floor deal.

She's pretty dingy now. Her mouth is sorta crooked, and she can't really talk very well. She's got this weird, "happy" countenence through. Like she's high on some excellent dope. That's nice.

They're moving her to a rehab floor for another week of physcial therapy and stuff. After that - she can't be living alone any more. The social worker at the hospital left a list of "places" we can check out for her to live. I would hope we can find a nice facility, like where Tony Soprano took his mom - but I have a feeling the only places she can afford to go - will be filled with screaming old people, and a faint smell of urine... Fuck a duck.

I don't feel guilty any more about not insisting she live with us. Face it. I have my plate pretty well full already. Between the crazy kidlet, and the dog, two cats, legal battles with the ex-fuckhead - not to mention the three flights of stairs it takes to get here - I can safely say, I'm out of that loop now.

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On a brighter note, I've lost five pounds from walking Reggie at lunch every day. I haven't checked, but I'll wager my blood pressure is closer to normal than it has been too. Imagine how thin and fabulous I would be, if I could only give up those damned Krispy Kremes...

April 24, 2003