The strain of being a full-time carer to my mother hit me yesterday evening, when I’d an unacceptable meltdown when my plans to watch the live rugby league game were derailed.
Aspirations of unwinding in front of the Leeds Rhinos v Wigan Warriors game departing down the same avenue where Lord Lucan disappeared. The source of this tizzy experiencing further TV issues; this time with the 32″ gogglebox in my mum’s room.
After cooking dinner and concluded the washing up (my mum doesn’t own a dishwasher), just as I was about to take my game side pew, the god of domestic appliances, Simon Cowell, decided to render the one month old telly picture-less.
This inconvenience leading me to afford mater the courtesy of watching her soap operas on our lounge TV. Some may say a noble action on my part. However, my consequential huff at this episode, which included frustrated yells and cursing, mean I’ll not be basking in any glory for this sacrifice.
If truth be told after a disenchanting few days, some of the events journaled in the narrative Scream If You Wanna Go Faster! , this minor incident manifested as a straw fracturing the dromedary’s spine.
My irk escalating further when Mrs S senior felt the need to worry my Cheshire located sister Helen by conveying, via the magic of telephony, how bad GJ Strachan’s behaviour had been.
Maggie was of course correct in her summary of my unacceptable conduct. However, my youngest sibling has enough challenging existential episodes to deal with without being manipulated into a familial barney West Yorkshire side.
Helen has the hide of a rhino and stoically deals with life’s intruders, but was clearly upset on hearing of this tete-a-tete. As far as I was concerned, my sister being involved by mum turned out to be the matriarch putting out the fire with gasoline.
The rage I felt during this episode was completely excessive, I’m embarrassed not just at getting to that level of anger, but what neighbours who probably heard my frustrated rant made of it. I won’t have painting me in a good light that’s for sure.
On hearing my concerns of individuals hearing the rage would judge me badly, a friend commented I should ignore what people think. Adding that until they’ve walked in my shoes, ie putting their lives on hold to become a full-time unpaid carer for a parent (with minimal respite) they’d no right to sit in judgement on me.
They were right, of course, but I want to be better than advertising the occasional times of discontentment at my plight like a town cryer. It’s trashy behaviour and I need to ensure it doesn’t re-occur…… Although, chronicling it online maybe deemed even worse!
Anyhow, following a conference call with Henry Kissinger, calm was restored shortly after 8pm on Thursday. The ‘Stop Breaking Bloody TVs Treaty’ underpinning our arbitration agreement.
Consequently, following this mediation and with serenity restored, I made her a reconciliatory cuppa and bequeathed mater the last remaining jam doughnut.
That being said, my mood took another dip later in the evening upon hearing my rugby amours Leeds had lost to the Lancastrian ‘pie makers’. Although, my mum may argue she’d done me a favour and I’d dodged witnessing a broadcasting bullet through her destructive TV tinkering.
However, as Kissinger’s mediation fees aren’t cheap, hopefully she won’t raise that notion in front of me.