Trailer Park Puppetry

Things in The Park have been going well.  Mom was almost happy last weekend when we talked – excited to have finally been taken to the library, where she can get ‘books on tape’.  Renovations to Mom’s house are well underway, and on schedule.

Due to the absence of naturally occurring drama my sister, S, apparently needed to create some.  And she has…

i was two time zones away on Monday night, settling into my hotel on the front end of a business trip, when i got the call from my bipolar lesbian sister, T.  This is the sister who has deliberately removed herself from the family as it causes disruption to her brain chemistry.  She asked my assistance in dislodging herself from the rafters due to the latest round of “Let’s Make A Drama”.

It started a couple months ago, with the “Child With Nail Gun” facebook squabble.  Seems my sister, S, is angry with T for “being mean” to S’s daughter, DQ.  Deciding to “get some answers”, S sent T several e-mails.  T ignored them, except to write back telling S to stop using her work e-mail address for personal messages.

Oh, for context:  S is 57 years old and the senior IT professional at a large law firm.  T, with her PhD in business, is turning 49 this year.  It’s entirely possible that they could have been mistaken for two schoolgirls, with no manners and extreme self-absorption issues.

Two hours on the phone with T.   Some highlights – italicized words represent the voices in my head.

T: These people make me crazy!  My professional colleagues are on facebook!  I can’t let them see this stupid redneck shit.  Did I do the wrong thing?  They’re firing people down here – I don’t know if I’ll have a job after June!  I don’t need this bullshit!

daisyfae: No, i completely understand.  You have to do what is best for you.  i’d do the same thing in your situation.

In fact, i am quite jealous that i am unable to do the same thing… fucking deathbed promises…

T: Do they realize I’m never coming to visit?  Does Mom know that her choice to live with DQ means she’ll never see me again?

daisyfae:  Probably not.  But what would be the point in telling them?  Just call Mom every few weeks and stay in touch.  No point in feeding the drama and causing Mom pain…

Please don’t tell them.  Makes it far more fun to watch this way…

T: I won’t come home for Mom’s funeral.  If I saw DQ’s fucking alligator tears, while she sits on her fat ass in the house she stole from Mom, I’d go nuts!  Unless you need me.  I’d come home for the funeral if you need me there.  Do you want me there?

daisyfae: i’ll be fine.  Stay away if you need to.

No.  Please.  Seriously,  i’ll have plenty of other people gnawing on my brain once Mom checks out.  i’ll bag up any leftover brain nuggets and ship them to you so you won’t feel left out…  Oh, and by the way?  She’s not quite dead yet.

And it went on and on…  i reminded T that Mom made this choice, and that i have no issue with DQ getting the house – so long as the money doesn’t run out before Mom dies.  I finally told her that i was certain to hear from S soon, and assured her that i’d pinch off this small, brown and smelly loaf in the punchbowl before it blossoms into a full-blown turd…

As predicted, sister S called me first thing Tuesday morning, leaving her trademarked melodramatic “I need to talk to you” voicemail.  With a full day of meetings, i didn’t have a chance to call her back until i nestled into a comfy booth at the airport bar late in the afternoon.  Ninety minutes on the phone with S… fortunately accompanied by several treatments from the good Dr. Daniels to ease the pain.

S: I’m really pissed off!  T has ignored my calls and e-mails.  She’s pissed off at DQ and I just want some answers…

daisyfae: There are no answers.  T has bipolar disorder.  None of us will ever be able to fully understand what that’s like… Nor will we ever be able to really understand the issues.  It is a medical condition, and she has overcome tremendous obstacles – there are people with less severe cases who are on disability.

And you, dear sister, have a raging case of Narcissistic Personality Disorder. But you cope pretty well, too…

S: T doesn’t do anything to help Mom, and she doesn’t understand that it’s no picnic for DQ taking care of her every day.   I want to know what her problem is with DQ!

daisyfae: What is it you want to happen here?  Do you really want T to come home and visit?  Have you forgotten how much fun it was the last time T came home to “help”?  Why are you poking her with the Pit Bull Teasing stick?  She’s under pressure about her job, and this is a really bad time to be trying to get answers.  Best to leave her alone.  It will change nothing.

That’s right.  You get her all riled up and make her come home to “help”? This time YOU can deal with the mess.  i had to be physically restrained to keep from pounding her into PhD-dust on one of her prior “helpful” visits…  Where’s my fucking waiter?  This drink is not refilling itself…

S: But what did DQ do to T?  Why is she mad?  Somebody needs to tell me what’s going on…  I can’t believe she de-friended her on “facebook” – i can’t believe how childish she is!

daisyfae: Well, hmmm… The level of childish behavior seems a bit high…  but you can’t let this bother you.  T has had issues with DQ for a long time – she thinks DQ is taking advantage of Mom, and there is nothing anyone can say or do to change that.  She doesn’t understand how hard it is to take care of Mom, and won’t listen when i try to explain.  Why try to fix it?  Will any of this make Mom’s life better?

OMFG?!?!  Really?  REALLY?!?!  De-friended?  FML!  Why can’t they all de-friend ME?   My glass is empty again.  Where’s that waiter…

S:  We need to talk more – this really helps me.  You’re a good therapist!  I should just concentrate on what I can do for Mom and not worry about anyone else.

daisyfae: Gotta get going – think my flight is being called.

But more importantly, my glass is empty again…

Managed to make it to my gate at the airport with about an hour to spare – unable to sleep on an uncomfortable Airbus 320 with seats designed to torment 5’6″ tall humans.  Message traffic today from both camps which basically say the same thing – “Thanks for being there! We need to get together soon!”

Given the option?  Puppeteer is a much easier job than Referee….

Advertisements