beam me up


If it wasn’t for drama I’d have nothing left.
The in-laws and my wife decided that they were gonna stay for a week. Did I say before that I hated them before they decided to pawn their kid off on us? You can imagine the depths of my animosity now.
None of them did a goddamn thing toward getting the child taken care of except to co-sign a transfer of guardianship document and take that to be notarized.
No birth certificate or medical records. Some clothes and toys.
These people brokered this agreement, to raise the grandchild under this roof, without my knowledge. They rammed it through in a week and, since my wife works, left me holding the chore of actually raising the kid, at the expense of most of my writing “career” and all of my recording “career”. Apparently they thought this was okay, because it was “family”. I’d have argued for a couple months’ delay, at least, if not outright saying no.
I bit my tongue for a week, nightly combing through the legal and ethical ramifications.
Found that my wife and I cannot talk about the situation without her getting defensive and bringing up unrelated past peccadilloes. She always sides with family, no matter the issue.
The kid is naturally resentful, given that she’s been shunted about like a shuttlecock for all of her eight years, and is aware that her mother does not want her.
She’s a pretty nice kid…but she has a raft of personality problems, most of them due to inadequate socialization and association with her resentful witch of a parent. I take her swimming every day and do the best I can to help her on the road of life. I try to communicate-it’s hard for me to relate to an eight-year-old or to anyone who doesn’t “get” things quickly (surprise, surprise).
Rules are made and broken. Food wars are fought. The child tries to outstubborn old people. The usual kid stuff.
Nobody understands why I’m upset. I’m not sure I came first when I was dying, anymore. I’m guilty because I don’t want to do it right now.
Did I mention that I’m having hernia surgery, and about four ounces of plastic mesh put in, and that I’ll be virtually immobile for a month and a half or something like that? Next Friday, that is.
Peachy keen.
Everyone but me is convinced that this is the right thing to do.
Ever see the Gary Larson cartoon with the lemming wearing an inner tube around his waist? I feel like I’m wearing a toilet seat. And cement shoes. And I’m walking on eggshells.
I Love Lemmings

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