Wow it's really great that Mother is no longer a slave to food, instead like every other post-op she's simply replaced it with another addiction.  While some people become alcoholics, pill poppers (*waving*),  ebay addicts, message board addicts, gambling addicts, exercise bulimics, ceramic poodle figurine addicts or fucks everything that doesn't run from them first; Mother's become a shopoholic -- thumbs-way-the-fuck-up.

Gee Mom, seeing as how you don't have a job right now or in the past 1 1/2 years, think it's a good idea to be buying more crap we don't need? 

Mother's new frothing at the mouth obsession are flowers and fucking bird and squirrel feeders -- we must have at least 85 by now.  The flowers are nice but she can't stop.  Once they're all planted she comes back with a car load of more flowers, pots and soil.  Hurray.

Meanwhile Russ frets morning, noon and night over money and constantly talks  about how we'll probably be forced to sell the house and move back to fucking Kansas.  Yours truly is expected to babysit my 59 year old Mother on her many shopping excursions.  So when she comes home with a bunch of crap I get a lecture.  I actually don't accompany her anymore for these marathon shopping trips.  I kinda don't think it's my responsibility and I'm tired of being dragged in the middle.

When confronted about her obvious problem she flies into a rage and becomes bitterly defensive, accusing me of attacking her.  OK, what the fuck, do what ya like.  I'm gonna go have a drink.  You see my pills and sponsoring kitties (which is tax deductable) are a lot cheaper than your daily shopping trips.  Or at least they used to be before my insurance ran out.  Yeah, did I forget to mention that? Good times.  When and if I get accepted there will be a 60 to 90 day pre-existing condition waiting period.  A pre-existing condition can basically be boiled down to:  If you are alive and breathing.

So now she's wrestling with putting together these bookshelves she bought, and she's getting all impatient and emotional about them.  She can't get down on the floor because of her knees.  I finally take the tools away from her, lie down on the floor and do it myself; all the while what I'd really like to do is smash bottle after bottle of wine in her face and asking, "What the fuck do we need these bookshelves for?  Where the hell are you planning to put them when we already have furniture chasing each other around the walls in this house?"

I don't accompany Mother to the grocery store either.  For someone who doesn't enjoy eating anymore she sure does bring a lot of crap home.  I've asked her before to please stop because all I do is inhale it.  Wonder if there's some sort of subconscious behavior of hers that prefers to keep me this way.

I've been in horrible pain the past few days, I'm sure it has something to do with me gaining 10 pounds in the last month.  I truly have stopped caring.  Do you know it's probably been almost six months since I took any of my vitamins?  Funny, I don't feel dead yet.