Tomorrow Marks a Week


Tomorrow is a week since Mom died. I can’t believe that. It feels like yesterday. The house is so empty without her. She bought all these electronic candles that have timers. They turn on around sundown. I pretend she’s lighting them for us. I’m afraid I sound like Norman Bates. Give it another week and I’ll be sitting in the window in a rocker with her wig and housedress on, butcher knife in hand. (I have the knife picked out. It’s a purple one she bought at WalMart. That should make the shower scene in any subsequent remakes of Psycho even more colorful. I hope there aren’t any more remakes of Psycho. They should leave the classics alone.) I can get a “Bates Motel” sign to put in front of my grandmother’s empty house down the hill. Okay, enough of that. It’s starting to sound appealing.

I didn’t make it down to get the dead funeral flowers from Mom’s grave until late this afternoon. I’d planned to go this morning. I barely remember this morning. When I did make it to the cemetery, I found a gift bag and a little vinyl cooler by my parent’s tombstone. The minister’s wife of the church where the graveyard is, Hatt Church of Christ, had left it there. It’s where we attended services while I was growing up. What a nice gesture that was. It made me cry. I’ve never even met her. The people around here are good people.

I went for a little run tonight. I was surprised how quickly I’ve gotten out of shape in just a couple of weeks. I haven’t been to the gym since before I left for Texas. That has got to come to an end. I’ll do some yoga tomorrow and–

Ouch. There come the waves of electricity. They’re past “buzzing,” they actually make the joints and bones hurt. I’m going to wrap it up for tonight. Please forgive me. I wonder if a vanilla milkshake before bed would help– right after I turn on the neon “vacancy” sign in the window.

See y’all tomorrow.

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