My blog is forever out of numerical order, as something happened somewhere along the way that screwed what readers can see, and what I can see. Backstage, where I can fiddle with my blog and design it as I see fit, the count says that this is post 201. However, when you add the numbers as seen by my...adoring?...public, the numbers come to a total of 199. My guess would be that I deleted a couple of posts at one time or another. I say this because I know for a fact that I deleted drafts. What I may have done is checked a couple of existing posts while cleaning up, and the "dashboard" knows how many posts were actually published. The public face of the blog doesn't know this, thereby exemplifying how the left hand sometimes doesn't know what the right hand is doing.
I broke the Internet!
Anywho...I called and spoke with Stu. He, too, is baffled as to why my father felt the need to make a threat. Dad's not even king of that particular castle, so dictating rules really wasn't his job...at all. It was a useless argument that threw me into the worst panic attack of my life. Strangely, there was a perfectly logical thought running through my head that kept me from calling for an ambulance. Despite the fact that I was having chest pains, I was not experiencing pain in my left arm. It's not a definitive symptom, but common enough that it stopped me from calling for professional help.
The reality is that the odds of me running into my biological mother have already been calculated. She comes to my brother's house only on special occasions, such as birthdays and the like. What's more, Stu has the utmost confidence that if a war starts between her and I, it will be her doing. My mother has a very long, well documented history of saying the perfectly wrong thing at the wrong moment.
"Y'know, Rob...You come down pretty hard on your mother. You've told us plenty of stories and all that, but are you sure it's not a matter of you simply having a bad outlook on her? Sure no one is that evil." I will grant you that it's possible. Mine is the only perspective given here. However, a very recent conversation with my brother now allows me to reveal his thoughts on the matter.
Stu: Yeah, I've been visiting [our mother] ever other day recently.
Me: Oh? What's her problem now?
Stu: I didn't tell you?
Me: Apparently not.
Stu: She had her other hip replaced.
Me: Oh. Too bad they couldn't get her a heart transplant. Maybe she'd have some emotions of some kind.
Stu: Nah. That would require a heart IMPLANT.
Me: And people say I'm bad.
There you have it. I'm not the only one who gets on her case. In fact, I consider Stu rather brave for having invited her to TN to start with. It began with her living in his house, where she supposedly offered to be all kinds of help when it came to taking care of my nephew, her grandson, as well as supposedly helping with the bills. She didn't do anything! Well, that's not exactly true. She did a lot of complaining. This earned her the ire of Stu's wife, Nikki, and a hearty invitation to GET OUT!
Having discussed the fact that my father had no business dictating house rules to me, Stu then brought up a growing concern amongst family members: Arguskos! Mind you, they don't know him from a hole in the wall. And it's in the not knowing where fear grows. What Stu wanted to know was how I could possibly trust a friend from the Internet. "How do you know he's not going to take your stuff and keep it, or sell it?"
My first answer wouldn't help at all. "He's a Playgrounder." In my head, it's as simple as that. When a Playgrounder gives their word, I deem it as good as gold. Mind you, this doesn't go for ALL Playgrounders. There are some that I fully expect to say things like, "Rob...If you were suffering physically, I would be there for you...to catch the whole thing on camera and share with my friends as we celebrate your lengthy, agonizing death." But there are many whom I would trust with my life...
...and I HAVE already done so!!! There are various friends I have there that have my home address and phone number. These people know I'm disabled and would make for an easy victim if they had some kind of homicidal tendency.
PG 1: Y'know, I'm in a killing kind of mood. I wish there was someone we could easily murder.
PG 2: Well, Bor's handicapped and lives with just his cat. We could go on a road trip and kill him.
PG 1: Hey! That's a great idea! And he has some stuff we can take, right?
PG 2: Yep. He has all three special editions of Lord of the Rings movies...the ones with extra footage and six bonus hours on the making of the movies for each one!
PG 1: What are we waiting for? Let's get killing!
Ummm...Right. Could totally happen...if my friends were sociopaths.
My other answer would be, "What's to steal?" Honestly, my possessions aren't worth much on the resale market. Movies and books? You might get a few dollars, and that's if the pawn shop it willing to take such things in their current condition. Despite my efforts to take great care of the DVDs, many have ended up with at least one scratch that makes such shops reject them. So the most they could really do is keep my things, and I'm not handing over anything that can't be replaced.
As for Nike...Well, she's another mouth to feed. Not terribly costly, really, but an added expense nonetheless. If anything, I simply fear she'll think I'm ditching her, and her heart will break so badly she'll die. But I doubt that, as Arguskos seems like a VERY caring guy.
Just the same, I decided to shut the masses up by having Argus type up an e-mail that I could forward to my brother. With the subject of "So folks can stop being so paranoid...," I sent the following:
I know you believe that I have trust in my friend, but I had him type up a little message that I could pass on, this way there would be even LESS worry about me relying on an Internet friend. He asked, however, that I not forward the note so as to avoid sharing his e-mail with others. Here's what he wrote:
Rob, just wanted to let you know the deal. As of this writing, I am still compiling enough money to do this trip, but, assuming it happens, here's what'll be going on:
-I will arrive sometime in the first week or two of August, and take possession of Nike, and one or two boxes of books and movies.
-Once you are are settled in TN (which is sometime in September, if I remember correctly), I will journey out there as soon as finances allow, and return your cat and possessions.
In exchange for this service, all I would like is a few dollars for gas upon picking up Nike and delivering Nike, if it's within your power. If not, that's fine, since times are tight for us all.
Should you have any questions, let me know.
I certainly hope that's satisfactory for people to drop their paranoia, or at least their level of paranoia.
End of needless drama...I hope. Really, my family acts like I'm so incompetent that I can't take care of myself at all! If that was the case, I wouldn't have lasted these last five years in AZ. I would say I did it all by myself, but there has been the absolutely miraculous help of my online friends. Forget the ones I have offline...the last one I asked for help, during the saga of getting to Stu when he was literally dying, handed me such encouraging words as, "I hope [Stu] has his will in order." Some friend.
Now, while I have everyone's attention, the cost of my computer is looking to be somewhere between $150 and $200. This includes insurance of up to $1000, which a certain Valiant Turtle says he can use to build a computer that rivals the one I'm using. (Please, G-d...let them destroy this one in transit! =P ) I did a lot of guessing on the postal calculator, specifically when it came to the sizes of the two boxes I'll be shipping. Days before I fly to TN, I'll lug this "ancient" heap of technology to the post office and ship it...but as I seem to beg for financial aid each month, this cost will be on top of my regular pleading. Please note that I am NOT asking for this money yet! If I get it early, the odds of me being able to save that money until I need it are slim. (I have spending issues when I have "extra" cash.) But if someone infinitely more responsible than me could start a kind of "get Bor moved" fund, it would be appreciated.
It would be especially appreciated, since, before the argument with my father started, I brought up the shipping cost of my computer, and he - I can't believe he actually said this - told me to save up for it! Save what? I have nothing by the middle of the month. Perhaps he thinks I can save up pocket lint and pay with that.
You know, as the moving day looms closer, I have a sense that my sanity is going to vacate the premises. My posts will then be written from the Trenton Home for the Criminally Insane, with footnotes by Dr. Lizardo. O.o