Random thoughts! Random thoughts! Oh my goodness! The Department of Social Services is coming to our house tomorrow. No! Not all of them! Two of them! A social worker and a nurse! The person who generally runs the show in my head is having a panic attack. Pacing back and forth inside the cerebellum from lobe to lobe searching for someone, anyone, resembling an adult who likes to clean-up. Likes?! O,K. that is asking more than possible. Put out the SOS. "People in my brain! Would one of you kindly step up to the plate and organize this entire freaking residence in the next five to eight hours?" Counterproductive! That was counterproductive. Everyone left out the back entrance.
(Let me be clear for a moment.) Ahem! I know there is only one of me. See? But I cannot deny that the words Department of Social Services and coming to my house provide fertile ground for a meltdown of my mental health. I'm sure one or two of whomever reads this post will understand.
Oh dear! I just brought my own self down. I am my own "debbie downer". Unthinkable! There is only one of me but what a "me" she proves to be when there are things to be done of the organizational variety. Deep breath! Tomorrow is a good day. People are coming to help my husband and I have a better quality of life as he progresses in his dementia. That is a wonderful thing. A blessing! (I need to take a moment! One of the other me's who is not really anyone but me is tapping me on the shoulder.)
The freaking Department of Social Services is coming to my house tomorrow and they are actually going to come in my house. I feel faint at the thought. Who shall I say is responsible for all this stuff? Should I blame an errant house guest who's just left me with this mess to be cleaned up?
(several days later and the drama queen or dare I say it the Queen of Histrionics reports from the field)
Dear viewers, there was a small misunderstanding. The resident in charge went into a full blown freak attack in anticipation of the Department of Social Services coming to the house. The meltdown drove a dusk to dawn night of frenzied and non-productive cleaning that was without merit.
When the Department of Social Services came to the house they were not the Department of Social Services. They were affiliated with the Department of Social Services. They asked questions, filled out paperwork, left and came back with more paperwork. A nurse arrived and took baseline vital signs and she left. Not a single one of these professionals so much as used the bathroom while in residence.
I, the madame of the afflicted cerebellum lost my cool for nothing. No reason. Not one moment of the meltdown made an iota of a difference. No drama. Paperwork completed. Phone calls made. Approval obtained.
Approval in hand, "I,Me Us"leave the room with a sheepish grin and a heavy sigh of relief!
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