Remodeling

It's not like I need to take on another project.  I haven't even put all the bedroom furniture back in place from the painting.  So, why was I discussing redoing the back deck on the way in to work with Dad this morning?  First of all, why was I talking like I'm going to take this on over the weekend?  Secondly, why in the world did I talk about planning a semi-big project with him? 

You know what he said?  "I think you should wait."  Duh, Dad.  "You should ask Tim what he thinks."  Tim is the guy who's going to do the garage remodel whenever the hell that's supposed to happen.  I never should have expressed interest in this plan to the outlaws; now they're just stalling out of their primal need for spite...and it was THEIR idea to begin with.  grrr.  Anyway, I snapped back at Dad, "I don't need Tim's fucking permission to remodel my deck.  I can do it; I just need to decide what I want to do."  He said that he wasn't suggesting I ask for permission, just advice.  Oh.  Um...okay...sorry for snapping.  But he does this shit all the time.  He tries to talk me down, stall me, get me to veer toward the kiddie slopes when it comes to things I randomly announce that I want.

A few years ago, I told him I was going to take drum lessons because I always wanted to and talked myself out of for too long and why not.  Days after that he comes back with, "I asked one of my patients, who is a drummer, and he suggested you learn Jazz Drums instead."  [eyeroll]  Why did you have to put this out to your patients?  Who is this guy anyway?  What business is it of his?!  "You know what, Dad?  I don't like jazz.  Why in the hell would I want to learn Jazz Drums?  I want to learn Rock and Roll Drums.  So, thanks for looking out, but I'm not learning goddamn Jazz Drums."  He backed off thankgod, but MAN!  If I had been the least bit swayable, if it had been five years before, I probably would have tried to learn dumb Jazz Drums just because he said so.  I wouldn't have attempted drum lessons at all in fact.

And you wonder why I doubt myself?  There's why.  Oh, I did take drum lessons by the way and I was not at all bad.  But I think my next instrument will be bass guitar.  I can keep that beat better.

Anyway, for ever it seems like I said, "Hey!  Guess what!  I'm thinking of doing this really cool thing I have wanted to do for a long time!"  And my parents always volleyed back with a cautionary, "Um, Silver...I don't know if that's such a good idea.  Have you checked Consumer Reports?  Let me look into this for you.  That seems a bit risky.  Perhaps you should wait."  My parents, the ones who named a kid Silver, talked me out of doing stuff all the time that wasn't even all that wild or crazy.  You know what I say in hindsight and now?  No. takebacks.  You don't get to name a kid Silver then try to cram her in a "Heather" box.  So not fair.  For example: I would have had burgundy hair for a while in high school if they hadn't talked me out of it.  I still don't know how I feel about that.  I don't think a burgundy hair phase would have killed me.  May have come close, but I would have survived.  They let Jan Brady do it four years later.  But she was a way more convincing rebel than I ever was.  I guess I am more suited as a sneak attack kind of rebel.  I got the Jedi mind tricks and all.  Anyway, I'm digressing here.  Individuation is a hard fought battle.

So, I want to remodel the deck.  I might want to do it all by myself.  The stump remover guy came by yesterday and took out the Mimosa and all the boxwood roots.  They're gone.  Happily so, but I am also a little sad about it.  Spring is here.  Where's my Dirt Therapy going to come from now?  I know I'm going to need it.

X update: Talked to Mama this afternoon.  She was thrilled to find out that X's dis..dyno...ohIcouldn'treadanyathatshit...you know, MOLES (dysplastic veni) were just pre-cancerous.  Uh, whew?  Like that's that great of news?  Mmm-kay?  She was going on about how the new gastroenterologist (god, she butchered the shit outta that one too) thought that X's "levels" looked just fine and how anything is possible and how they're still going for the transplant consult and all kindsa tests in May but they already done all them tests down here so they ain't gonna find anything new and other things that led me to believe she really and truly thinks he's going to recover from this.  Holy fuck. 

I'm probably going to feel bad about this later but I yanked her head out of the sand a little bit today.  I told her Dysplastic Veni are a complication of the Cirrhosis.  I googled and everything.  I told her about X's Childs-Pugh score being a B and that basically means 2-5 years to live.  Next level up, down or whatever from that is a C which means 1-3 months to live and that is where X is headed if he doesn't clean up his act and I don't want to deal with another funeral anytime soon. [stomps foot!]  She went into full-on enabler/defender mode talking about how he's all "scared straight" ...this time.  It was painful to hear.  I couldn't bring up Atlantic City.  She would have wriggled out of that like a greased pig.  I couldn't press her for details about his behavior in Carolina.  I'm pretty sure she was down there with eyes shut and fingers in her ears shouting, "LALALALALA!" the whole time.  No help at all, this woman.

She is skipping blindly down the path as black fingered branches claw at her picnic basket.  [shudder.  sigh]