I’ve been pouring eye drops into my eyes for days in the hopes of making them feel less like someone poured dirt in them. It must be the weather. Or the dog hair. Or pieces of my brain falling out and messing with my eyes.
Garry is on his way to New York. He is going because his two younger brothers cannot have a conversation without a trained negotiator. In this case, Garry.
Seriously, they can’t talk to each other. My 75-year-old weary husband has to drive to New York to try and make sure middle brother will allow himself to be moved from Old Family Home currently being supported by Youngest brother. The hostage will then move to a nice senior facility in Northfield, Minnesota — which is city in which the youngest sibling resides.
Garry is driving because we aren’t doing airplanes. Just getting to the airport in downtown Boston and then out of the next airport to Long Island would take longer than the drive — even including the inevitable heavy traffic. Not to mention the money thing.
This leaves me here with no car as we sold the yellow one months ago. Take pity on me. Comment frequently.
I decided — briefly — that I need to start a new blog. I want to call it ALT-MIDDLE or maybe ALT-MIDDLE-OF-THE-ROAD. It will lobby for normalcy.
If I do it right, we can have our own alt-middle-news network. Rupert Murdoch will offer us gazillions to run it! I’ll be rich!
Or maybe not.
I got so excited, I nearly invested in another blog and then I said to myself, “Self? Are you insane? Another one?” So. No new blog. I’m barely keeping my head above water on this one.
But someone needs to be the ALT-MIDDLE. Too many left, rights, and just plain weird. Someone needs to stump for having a regular life without a lot of drama.