Want some popcorn?
Update on Aunt Psycho sitch...
Everyone got to the hospital all in good time, and not a moment too soon. Psycho had broken nose and numerous cuts, along with low... well, everything. Blood pressure, eltrolites (sp?), every damn thing was bottomed out. In short, the bitch hasn't been eating, taking meds, nothing. She's just been drowning herself in liquor.
Social workers arrived and made their assessment of the situation. Said she was a danger to herself, and therefore could not legally be responsible for her own actions. Therefore, Gigi was given the pen to sign her into rehab. Which she did, thank god.
Since then, it's been one hell of a puppet show. Honestly, grab some popcorn and a soda, and sit down with me. I've got the best seat in the house--right up there in the I Don't Give A Shit box overlooking the stage.
Gigi's alone in this, I do realize that, and I feel sorry for her. But that was the twat she was birthed from, so that's just how the cards fall. She doesn't have to like the situation. She doesn't even have to like her mother, for that matter. But legally, it is her responsibility. She is the next of kin. End of discussion.
I've told her I'd be there for her, and that if she needed anything, I was just a phone call away. But I also made it clear that I would not see Psycho. And I won't. I won't have anything to do with her--all I can do is help with the fallout on this end of things. My grandmother and my mom are both strung higher and tighter than a squirrel on meth, and it's all I can do not to let them drive me up the wall. But as long as I can keep my I Don't Give A Shit seat, I'm cool.
Pass the Milk Duds, will ya?
In any case, there was a problem with the insurance company this morning. Heh. Isn't there always? They said that because Psycho has been in the hospital, doped up on doctor-administered narcotics, she's technically "detoxed", and therefore, they won't pay for her to go to the center they were hoping to get her into. Detoxed my ass! This bitch has been doped up from the moment she got there. She hasn't felt shit, let alone the DTs.
But she will.
Is it wrong of me to feel absolutely elated over that thought?
Yeah, I thought so... Oh well, moving on.
I took today off since my mom came in this morning with, "DoyouthinkIshouldgotothehospitalIthinkIshouldgoMaybeIshouldgoseeMamaIthinkI'llgoseeMama Orno,I'llgoseeNellNellwillknowaboutMorrisVillageWhereisthenumberforthealcoholanddrugabusecenterCanyoufinishbrowningoffthishamburgerIthinkI'llcallJeanJeancantalktoGigiIneedtocallLynnYouthinkIshouldgoupthereandrelieveLynnIthinkIshouldgoupthereandrelieveLynnI'mtakingaTylenolPMandgoingtobedIthinkIshouldcallGigiandcheckonherI'mgoingtoMama'stomakesureshedoesn'tgoupthereC'monlittlebittypuppieslet'sgopeepee~!"
*sighs* And you know what I'm thinking this whole time, right? It's all for nothing. The bitch will go in, she'll play along with whatever those people at the Rehab center want, and she'll get out and go right back to what the fuck she was doing. That's how she works. That's how she's always worked.
And I'll be cursed and hanged before I play into that shit. >__<