It seems that I've wandered into Thursday. I had to actually visit the calendar and count on my fingers a little bit to figure that out.
This week has been off (like I ever have one that isn't). B had jury duty (again--democracy and all its trimmings can be a bitch) on Monday, which screws up our normal schedule, then school was canceled on Tuesday (Sweet Jesus--iced in with the kids? Really? Why hast thou forsaken me?), which means that by the time Wednesday rolled around I had no idea whether I was coming or going. Throw in Mom's hospital stay, a sick kid, my own stupid cold, McPhail Family Dinner, and a variety of other happenings and SHAZAM. Apparently, it's Thursday.
Oh, wait. My phone says it's Friday. Oops.
Regardless of what day it is (like it even matters, really, in the grand scheme of things), the upside to this crazy week is that I've gotten to talk to my little brother way more times than usual, as he's been looking out for Mom. Unfortunately, most of our conversations have gone something like this:
Me: Hey, Man.
Me: How's Mom.?
Z: I haven't killed her yet, if that's what you're asking.
Me: Nice work. You haven't poisoned her milkshakes?
Z: No, but I did consider smothering her with a pillow last night when the pain meds made her start thinking that her stomach was talking to her.
Me: The coroner could probably identify asphyxiation. You need something less obvious.
Z: I could make it look like she rolled over face down, then because of the pain in her shoulder couldn't roll back over, and suffocated.
Me: Hmmm....that might work. I'll do some Internet research and let you know what I find. We might find something easier.
Z: Shawna probably won't let me kill her, so don't spend too much time on it.
Me: Shawna doesn't have to know.
Z: I tell her everything.
Me: Quit being such a damn pansy-ass. If you want to kill Mom, then kill Mom. Jesus! Stand up for yourself, dude.
Z: Yeah. I guess. But things are okay. I think I'll feel better when I get some sleep.
Me: Good luck with that.
But here it is Friday, nobody has killed Mom yet, and the world is still spinning. It's mind boggling. And still, January trudges on.
And trudges on.