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Jun. 6th, 2008 08:18 pmNote: For those who have no idea what the following is about, my autistic twenty-year-old brother eloped to another country with a religious extremist last Christmas. Whatever drama you're imagining, triple it before you even come close to the reality.
Mum has a call with Bernard tonight, so I've banished myself to the Continental Breakfast Room at the hotel. Most hotels have one of these -- it's that niche just off the lobby that always smells like waffles and masquerades as a "common room" when the plastic cereal-dispensers aren't out.
Mum and Bernard have a call about once a month, and otherwise mostly communicate by rare text messages and emails. Bernard isn't really allowed to have his own email anymore; all e-communication goes through his wife. Healthy, no?
Anyway, last time Mum spent three hours trying to actually get in touch, and then another six hours weeping or something, I wasn't there (Dad Lucky was, I really gotta buy him something nice for all the shit he puts up with). She has Xanax with her this time so she'll be okay whatever happens; I don't think anything can make her quite as insane as the night Bernard decided to assault me in the hallway. That was really the high point or our little en-masse family nervous breakdown. Never let it be said that I am not at the heart of the action.
Way to ruin my Mum's holiday, Bernard. I hope you die slowly in a farming accident.
Mum has a call with Bernard tonight, so I've banished myself to the Continental Breakfast Room at the hotel. Most hotels have one of these -- it's that niche just off the lobby that always smells like waffles and masquerades as a "common room" when the plastic cereal-dispensers aren't out.
Mum and Bernard have a call about once a month, and otherwise mostly communicate by rare text messages and emails. Bernard isn't really allowed to have his own email anymore; all e-communication goes through his wife. Healthy, no?
Anyway, last time Mum spent three hours trying to actually get in touch, and then another six hours weeping or something, I wasn't there (Dad Lucky was, I really gotta buy him something nice for all the shit he puts up with). She has Xanax with her this time so she'll be okay whatever happens; I don't think anything can make her quite as insane as the night Bernard decided to assault me in the hallway. That was really the high point or our little en-masse family nervous breakdown. Never let it be said that I am not at the heart of the action.
Way to ruin my Mum's holiday, Bernard. I hope you die slowly in a farming accident.
