At what point is it okay to put me out of my misery? Seriously. I’m living in a giant grandfather clock of a house, and most of the gears inside are cuckoos.
My morning starts late because sleep is a ghost I can’t catch. First move: slide the heating pad under the backside. My body stiffens up like concrete the second I lie down. After fifteen minutes of "heat and stretch," I can finally sit up, grab the cane, and hobble to the head.
Back in my room, I check the news. I pay $80 a month for "free" Roku internet—the minimum price for a digital life. Cable would be $200, so I let the neighbors share the Wi-Fi to claw back a few bucks. I eat at my "mini-kitchen"—a table for one with a coffee maker and a basket for dirty silver. I use paper plates so I only have to face the dishes once a week. I eat, I swallow a half-dozen-plus pills, and then I usually pass out in the easy chair again.
By 10:00 AM, I’m hobbling to the shower with my caddy and a towel to use as a mat. I need that hot water to melt my muscles. While I’m lathering up, the room keeps flickering—light, dark, light, dark. I peer out, thinking someone’s breaking in. It’s just sunlight blasting under the door five or six times.
I step out to a war zone. Lenny is screaming at Sal. Sal left the front door wide open to sort the mail, and Lenny’s room is catching a draft.
"Block it with towels!" Sal yells.
"Keep the door SHUT!" Lenny screams back. "And stop touching everyone’s packages!"
Finally, Lenny treats Sal like a toddler: "Go to your room! You aren't allowed out anymore!"
I’m 63. My kids are grown. Yet here I am, living in a daycare for grumpy seniors. When is euthanasia considered okay?
The day didn't improve. I drove some of the guys to the laundromat. I’d procrastinated until I was literally out of underwear because I was busy working through the holiday aches. I can't carry hampers anymore, so I used a collapsible luggage rack.
The laundromat was wet with melting snow. I had three hampers, so I used one of their big wheeled baskets to get to the car. Everything was fine until I hit the downhill slope of the driveway. The car<t caught a mind of its own, pulled away from me, and tipped. My clean, fresh laundry dived headfirst into a giant slushy puddle.
WTF: What The Fiasco.
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