Yesterday I attempted some long-overdue shopping therapy, and was thwarted at every turn. Sorry, we’re out of that size, and yeah, that size too. Sorry, your card expired. Didn’t you get the one we sent? Sorry, we’ll have your new card to you in seven to ten business days. Thanks for your feedback; to complete the transaction, click the button below and complete the next form. Click. Click. Click click click click click click. Hello! We noticed you attempted to register online with us and appeared to have problems. Please call us during business hours at…well, yeah, I would, but I don’t have my new card yet.
So walking in my old boots with the run-down heels, I go home, log off, lay down. I finish the same video game I finished the day before. I log back on. And words fail me. Perhaps this is part of grief, I don’t know. I’d write about it to satisfy your possible, graceful curiosity but it won’t come. Which makes it worse. I spend a lot of time with my finger on delete.
Because the government doesn’t recognize same-sex couples, my mother’s partner of twenty years is not entitled to her social security benefits; a right guaranteed to heterosexual couples. The money just goes right back to the government instead. Which they’re spending so wisely right now. We’ve come along way, baby, but you still treat me like crap.
Mom died two months ago today. Sometimes I want time to make a little more sense. Don’t expect things to be fine, you know?