Falling Down

My mind is takin' photographs

Of every little thing

Exhibit #8...

Don't be late

I was living with good ol' pops from the time I escaped from wacko radical-feminist in September of '07 until the next escape in December of '09.  As I've mentioned before, things got real bad right around the time I'd started my blog and had told a friend or two over the phone about Kristen (I'm not sure why I don't just name her at this point.) and her connection to my family.  Kristen had dropped hints about knowledge of my phone conversations.  It's not that difficult to add up.  Anyway...try and follow me:

The bathroom at the house is one of the smallest bathrooms I've ever been in.  Once through the door, you're in a small walking space maybe three feet wide between a wall on the left and floor-to-ceiling cupboards on the right.  Take 3 steps and on your right is a sink that's either even with or jutts out slightly further than the cupboards.  There's a space about 6 or 8 inches wide between the right side of the vanity below the sink and wall that is the left side of the cupboards.  Immediately beyond the sink on that wall is the toilet.  There's barely enough room for a small waste basket between the sink vanity and the toilet.  On the opposite wall is the tub.  I'd say there's less than 2 feet between the front edge of the toilet bowl and the tub.  It's a terribly cramped space. 

I believe it was in early '09 when my father started falling down.  All together, during the time I was there, I'll take a somewhat wild guess and say he fell roughly 15 times.  I made it a point to notify my sister most of the times it happened and often she mentioned that he had told her already.  I didn't call her every time because it got to the point where she was aware of the frequency and there were never any injuries.  Most of the time it was in the living room, but at least 3 of the falls occurred in the bathroom.  Guess who was there to pick him up every time?  Me.  Except once...

I believe this was some time in mid '09.  I came home from Borders one night and found him sprawled out on the floor in the office (formerly my sister's bedroom, the middle room in the back of the house.) in nothing but his briefs, which he had soiled, and his t-shirt.  Hmmmm.  I picked him up and lead him by the arm to the bathroom.  He undressed himself and I helped him into the tub and he seated himself on the bench he had been using which was left over from when my mother was ill.  I turned on the water and used the handheld sprayer to spray off his back and his butt--all of this knowing what I described in "Bye Bye, Dude." I then handed him the sprayer to finish himself.

The next day I called The Area Agency on Aging to notify them of the event and suggest that he may be ready for Hospice care.  I notified my sister of this and she indicated she would call them and schedule an in-house assessment.  I knew what my family was up to, so I skipped this meeting.

I understand the psychology of his situation, that it's possible that some of those falls were a cry for attention from a dying man.  But I find it undeniably odd that a 79-year old man who'd had repeated surgery on his feet could, indeed, fall that many times without suffering a single serious injury--not one broken bone, not one internal injury--especially in that bathroom, ready-made for such injuries.  In fact, each fall in the bathroom was near the toilet which is of course right near the corner of the sink and the tub.  It's an elderly person's injury trap.  I believe on 1 or 2 occasions he ended up with a black and blue mark, which, again, my sister was aware of.  In fact, while all of this was going on, another guard at my post at the plant said something to me--once again, out of the blue--about how one can seriously injure a kidney from such falls.  He also made out-of-the-blue comments about "tough love" and "respecting your elders."  (The extenuating circumstances of my situation permit me to suggest where he shove both of those.  I am in no way, not in any kind of bizarro world you can conjure up, obligated to respect a guy who secretly played an active part in ongoing and repeated schemes intended to ruin and even end my life.)  Furthermore, after I'd notified dad that I'd contacted the Agency on Aging, guess what happened?  He never fell again during the several months I remained living at the house.  Most importantly, though, I find it especially notable that out of all those falls, exactly one occurred when I wasn't present in the house and just happened to include the aggravating circumstances I mentioned. 

Here's a diagram of that bathroom that's extremely close to accurate scale.  If it's off at all, I'd say it leans a little toward the generous side in regard to floor space visible from this angle (My first time using Powerpoint.  Not bad, huh?  It must be all that time I wasted in messing with graphic design while dabbling the t-shrit biz):

So, I was left with the following 3 options:  stay home and have conversations with him during which he could deliver subtle, stabbing insults, etc.; stay home and not talk to him and be accused of mental and emotional neglect; get out of the house as much as possible, be stalked by Nazis and be open to accusations of not being there in case he fell down.  A common method laying the ground work for mind control is a double bind.  This one was a triple.  I battened down the hatches and avoided conversation with that cat with zeal.  Don't like it?  Too fucking bad.

I'm no math wiz, but I can add 2+2...+2...+2...+2:  they were intentionally setting me up for allegations of neglect.  You scoff?  If so, considering what I told you in "Bye Bye, Dude" and most everything else in this blog for that matter, I have only one question for you:  Who's being naive now?

You crept in

Underneath the radar

Livin' in a glass house

Sleepin' on a glass bed

My mind has taken photographs

Of every little thing

Honey turn around

And the shame remains

My logic and details will continue to cut the lies to fucking pieces.

Joseph C. Zoccali, Clearwater, Florida; Rick Wilson, Niles, Ohio; Christine Faranda, Cleveland, Ohio; Len Spector; Marc Greece, A&E Networks; Reverend David Plank, Palatine Bridge, NY; Carrie (Plank) Bruno, Queens, NY; Cynthia Green, Tech Recruiter; Sioux Logan, Red Stream Technologies; Mike Tricario, MTV; Sean Newman, Columbus, Ohio; Jim Reed, Columbus, Ohio; Zynga; Marty Eggert, Cleveland, Ohio; Kathy Haxton, Cleveland, Ohio, St. Joe’s Medical  Center, Warren, Ohio; Coleman Professional Services, Warren, Ohio; Laura McCormick

An Pham, anpham1111@gmail.com; Anna Stepnova, stepnova@aol.com; Barbara Anne Wolf, wolf.barbara.anne@gmail.com,  (415) 812-4926; Brian Montague, jetbpm@aol.com; Charles Crites, critesfam@sbcglobal.net; EHSOH, lovycera@gmail.com; Elizabeth Nicolosi, elizabethnicolosi@hotmail.com; Kristy Guertin, guertk@spu.edu; Meagan Franz, meaganfranz@hotmail.com; Miyako Abe, mtea2006@yahoo.com; Nora Salah, nsalah01@yahoo.com; Teresa Keller, teresa@rtwwithus.org; Natasha Warder; 

Kathleen Kashay; Erica Agyeman; Darcy Estes; Alison Victor; Tracy Dietz; Kaitlin McGaw; 

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