Out with Stormy, I've had enough. I'm making him start to walk, I've had it, this wheelchair business, being the arms to his deranged fancies.
He's been calling, wondering when I'd come take him out next, these days - they're consuming, a full days effort for very little reward. For me, that is, he seems to have fun.
Tuesday's mission - since I have the wheels, is to go and retrieve some things from the locker.
This, as the avalanche of items raining down quickly proves, is a bad idea. I get virtually nothing I needed, the locker, a mess, I need to back with some boxes and a few hours to dig through it all, in the end this just proved to be the map...
From here to lunch, the worst burger joint in the world, his favorite. From there to the bank, then to Wal-Mart. His choice, not mine. He needs a belt. Of course. And since I have him off and walking - more tottering, pants falling down, I'm having to fit him with belts, this is fucking gruesome.
Then some candy and back to the car.
Wait, he's not done, he wants to go back in the mall and finish his sandwich...
So - this time I make him push me in the wheelchair while I scream "Whee!!!" and he quickly changes his mind. But I make him do it. I goad him with the fact that he's decrepit far beyond his years, that Dag - 80 years old, 5 years his senior, is still driving, off getting lucky in the woods of Proctor, and he's - well - not doing so well. And these outings are going to depend on him getting used to walking once again.
So he pushes me into the mall, and then I allow him to sit in the chair, it's a bit cruel but enough is enough, I'm not going to fucking enable this charade of incontinence and helplessness, push him to the liquor store, get him a couple of beers, and then back to the home.
I'm beginning to slightly resent some of these unpaid commitments, and it's time to start developing reasonable boundaries.