So my grandmother anounced that she was going emo, and began writing depressing poetry with senior lesbian undertones. I realize that there is very little I can do about it so I drop off a box of boxcutters and some black hair dye and black rubber braclets at the nursing home. While I was there I dropped by the senility square and told everyone I was Robert Redford and sighned a few autographs.
I then had lunch and realized there are several seniors in unseen captivity that have embodied and submursed themselves in the emo lifestyle. Shuffle board and standing in groups of two, behouving thier existance, and peircing eachother's faces.
So I go back to the enturnment camp, and take my grandmother outside to try to talk some sence in to her.Why does she need to try to be someone else, why should she be so fake, and try to be something she isn't?
But thats was more dificult than I thought she kept throwing up the old, well at least I don't wear costumes, which is totaly unfair because she knows I have warrants.(Thats for the story, I don't really in real life.)
I took some of her meds. and then began to see her point of view. You know when you live your whole life just trying to servive scraping out enough to get your kids through college only to be shuffled off to a Pungie hole, maybe I'd be depressed to.
Then I relized I don't really care, I just want to make sure I inherit the gravy bowl and the smurf collection and the dancing frogs.
So I smuggled her in a cat that was giving trouble around the old neighborhood and assured her that this cat would get along swimmingly with her roommates dog. Boy was I in for one weird late night call.
Well I took Nana some pot to calm her nerves and explained to her that no matter how bad she felt I wasn't going to score her any more heroin. And when I left her she was quietly writing some death poetry about a half finished quilt. Thats all I have today.