Saturday, June 03, 2006

On the Edge

2pm and my life is my own once more.

Yesterday 'mom' asked if it would be possible for me to watch both boys (2.5 and 1 yr). I said "No, I can't. I physically cannot do it." Yay for me. I said it calmly (meaning no deep sighs followed by whining) as the fact that it was. And 'mom replied, "Okay." Her and friends were going to be having some drinks (at home, I think) and she wanted overnight care so they could sleep longer in the morning. If that wasn't her plans, that's how it turned out since she had the youngest one with her.

Darius was looking particularly cute to me when he arrived. Its always a treat for me and I think for Darius. What follows later is another matter...but the first bloom of greeting is always sincere and heart-felt. Last night was no different.

He had my full attention and when that happens, everything seems to go smoothly. He has trained me well.

As soon as I was able to get him to lay quietly for three minutes, he was asleep. Alas and alack, though... neither of us slept well. He woke up four different times. I think it was because of my movements coupled with him sleeping 'in a strange bed.' (How quickly that will probably change in his teen years.)

I couldn't sleep for listening (and then watching) the drug traffic stomp a furled path to the apartment next to mine. And I gotta tell ya, that's not easy. Its cement.

About 2am I decided to count/time the arrivals. I darkened my apt. and opened the blinds just a few centimeters... enough to look out and no one could see in. (I tested it a couple of times when I first moved here.)

To get to the infamous apartment one has to walk, or stumble as the case may be, right past my window... up close and personal. I counted 12 people in an hour and fifteen minutes. That's about one every seven minutes, by guesstimate. One of them even had his wallet out as he strode to the door. Too much. I mean how stupid am I suppose to be... and I'm the mother of the property manager. Does DUH mean anything to him?

Later in the morning, at a normal time of day for normal people, Darius and I were outside and the guy - Mr. Aging Teddy Bear, looking nothing like what you'd expect a drug dealer to look like, said he had talked to my son and he was going to be able to get out of his lease and move. Mr. Aging said something to indicate he was moving because of how the people upstairs behaved... ghetto-ish... but we know the real reason. If he stayed he would be evicted for drug activities and he could lose his section 8 housing assistance.

Mr.-Drug-Dealing-Aging-Teddy-Bear is very good at putting up smoke screens, but terrible at concealing facts. This is an excellent example for me as to why it is so important to pay attention to the facts during a trial, and not the defendant's presentation. I mean, look at OJ, fer gawd sake. (If you're innocent, have a judge-only trial, if you're guilty, have a jury.) But I digress.....

After doing a little mental happy-dance over the good news about the move, Darius and I continued to have a pleasant day. Around noon, however, we both began to feel shop-worn. We became frayed around the edges.

Lack of sleep began to show on both of us. Fortunately for Darius, 'mom' called right in the nick of time, and she didn't take longer than I estimated for her arrival. We were both on the edge, as it were, but we were able to maintain with only minor confrontations. (If you were wondering who was in control, I'd call it a draw all the way around.)

Now I will no doubt be getting comfortable soon. I can clean up the messes (note plural) later. Gamma has done her duty and she enjoyed it, but when its time, its time.

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