doghouse, dying, and the Great OJ Incident of 2005

Well it has been a marvelous day. I will begin with the Great OJ Incident of 2005. So Rob stayed over. Had a relatively nice morning. Until 10, when he said that he had to get a move on or he would be late for work. But we needed to get breakfast. So over to Bickfords we went. He was talking about French Toast, which got me thinking about French Toast. So I ordered French Toast. He got a Meat Lover's Omlette (WTF?) and.... an orange juice. Complete with condensation on his glass. That's right you guessed it. DADA da da da SLIP! Crash! And a small wave of OJ came right at me. Rob nearly dove under the table in embarassment. The waiter (who is creepy due in large part to the huge goiter on his neck) started ineffectively wiping up the spill with a damp cloth, causing ripples from the large puddle to wave towards my side of the table. Spilling all over me, my shirt, my pants, my new bag, into the bag, and on the seat. For some reason, this wave of fury and anger swept over me. I stormed back to the house (I love right next door to Bickfords) and changed. I went back, the food had arrived and Rob was already eating. Had not considered to wait for me. (Doghouse entry #1) The contrite look, the I'm sorry - meant nada to me at that time. "What's your problem? I said I was sorry." (Doghouse #2) My throat closed up. I mean I was seething and had no idea why I felt so vehemently. "You usually laugh these things off" was his comment. (#3) I asked for a to go container. Then I said (testing the waters) "You're going to be late for work if you drive me, so I will take the T." His reply was "OK". (A big ol' #4) So off he goes, playing ICP amd up to make a U-ie - in the direction I am walking. His normal routine. and I start off down the street. By this point I am just sobbing with frustration, anger, and god knows what else. He pulls over. "What is it? What have I done? Is it a hormonal thing?" (#5 as I don't have a hormonal cycle, I don't have my "monthly" which he knows. ) I can barely talk I am crying so hard at this point. He asks me to get in the car, which I do. "There's my bus", I say. "Well let me at least get ahead of it and drop you at the next bus stop." (#6) So out of the car I go, the bus pulls up and he goes off.
I get into Boston and pick up a few items for tomorrow's concert as I am all of a sudden the official caterer. Of course I am. I am going with 6 guys. All clueless about advance preparations. Off to work I go, to find Sharrie just miserably sick. ("How do you feel?" "Like death", is the reply.) Poor Sharrie is looking rather like the walking dead but assures me she is off to the doctor shortly. She listens, as she always does, to my tale of woe regarding the above, trying all the while not to laugh in commiseration, as it so closely mirrors her life. I resolve some outstanding requests that I have, and then out come the newbies to the floor, all full of eager anticipation. What I say and do today will reflect everything about what they will be doing. I must be sunshine and light. I must be upbeat. When all I want to do is be like Greta Garbo...i.e. "I vant to be alone." But I perservere and charm and delight the newbies. "I want to sit next to her!" "Isn't she the coolest?" These admirations lift me up.
Then, the phone rings. I notice that it is my mother's cell phone. I ask the girls not to listen in and pick up the phone. She tells me that my grammy is not doing well at all. Trouble breathing, low heart rate, non recognition of anyone, bad skin tone... my mother is frightened. My uncle, the stoic show no emotion man, is contemplating not going to Las Vegas she looks so rough. Goddamn it all. I know, and accept, that my grandmother wants to die, to be with her beloved husband. My grandfather, EJ. I know, in my heart, she is going to a better place. But there is still that small selfish voice in my head that does not want her to leave me. Not before she sees me, her eldest grandaughter, married. Please, just a little while longer. Now that is not a reason in the slightest to get married. Nor would I ever act upon it, or vocalize it to Rob. It is selfish of me to think it, but yet the thought escapes me. I'm not ready for her to leave me, but if that is her will, and God's wish, I will let her go. I have no choice, do I?
Off to Ozzfest in the morning, but Rob is taking me to go and visit her. I dread that this may be a saying goodbye, but at least I will have no regrets, OK few regrets.