It was great until….*Updated*

 

My Mikey, I love you

∞ • π³ + 1

 

Mikey has a migraine.  I’ve known this for days on end, already.  I can’t do anything about it, and I’m tired of letting Louis come out and feel guilty, as if WE somehow put the ache in Mikey’s head, which, obviously, we did not.

I don’t know why the sudden change in attitude and such.  While we were with Mama and the kids, we talked, laughed, and had fun, despite the headache.  The minute we stepped through the door to our house, it all changed, and I would goddamned sure like to know WHY!

Of course, if I ASK him why right now, I’m liable to get my head bitten off, so I’m not asking him shit right now.

What the fuck did I do?  Why stop talking to ME?  Is it because I can’t magically produce our Medicaid cards and drive you to the hospital?  Is that what it is?  Well, honey, if that’s it, where’s YOUR share of the blame?  You don’t have the cards or a car, either, after all.

I’m not a goddamned perpetrator here, and I do not appreciate being treated as if I were.  The result?  I am not speaking unless it’s a fucking matter of life or death.  There will be no phone calls.  No knock on the door will be answered.  If he wants to isolate me, I’m taking him with me, goddamnit.

I wish I could pull some fucking Stadol out of my ass and give him a big shot of it.  I can’t.  I CANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN’T.

So fucking THERE!

I love you, Mikey.  I wish I understood why I get blamed for your migraines, and for not being able to get them treated.  Give me something to work with and I’ll show you just how much I can do.

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As it happens, dear readers, Piers decided to alleviate his part of the problem by riding our bicycle (Nanny bought us one to replace the recently stolen one) to Connie’s house.  It is quite some little journey, but he made it there just fine.

The trouble lay in the return route.  Not even one third of the way home, we noticed that we were in serious trouble.  The body is still aching with that oxygen-deprived feeling, as I write this.  Classically, this is referred to as over-extending oneself.  Never fear.  Obviously, Momma is out now, dear ones.  I had to come forth and remind the body to draw upon the cistern of energy, as I call it.  Burn fat instead of taking from organs and such.  It seems to get us through.

For a little over half the ride, I was in command, and the ride went far more smoothly.  I suppose my children were not meant for physical endurance.  I know no other way.

So we are home.  Exhausted, hungry, and over-extended, but home, safely.

Love to all,

Thelma Louise

p.s. for David…..Micheal is sitting in the dark, watching a movie.  Perhaps he read your notes.  I intend to eat, when I gain a bit more strength, and retire for the night.

Momma