(I found that if I hold my laptop up to the ceiling, I have one nubbin of unsecure wireless – praise jebus!)

Normally I would just assume that people here have more sense than to bandy unsecure wireless connections about, but I honestly think that no one here HAS wireless. I am stuck in my mom’s new place with no TV, no internet, no music, no nothin’  except season 1 of Dead Like Me, of which I just watched the first six episodes back to back. My head kind of hurts. It’s also three am, I’m thirsty, and this place is creepy.

I really hope my mom has a lot more patience than I do. I mean, I’m pretty much universally known as Ms Patience, but I was at my limits today. Her new apartment is the basement of someone’s house, and living above her is an entire family of clog dancers. The floors aren’t very thick, and I’m easily able to hear entire conversations in between all the running – not to mention the small child person who likes to yell and sing and cry and make irritating noises. Ed thinks that maybe she’ll welcome the noise. Me, it fills with rage. I hate other people.

There’s something infinitely depressing in imagining myself in this same situation – a 62 year old widow, living in a basement suite like some sort of lackluster college student, hording dish soap and paper towels because you can’t pass up a good deal. I hope I never get to this point. I always envisioned retirement to be at least mildly exciting, from an old person’s point of  view – lemonade, shuffleboard, flower arranging, maybe some weekly Bingo. This can’t be all there is – a crappy little two room apartment underneath someone else’s life, forging relationships based on lottery tickets and other pipe dreams. There’s more, isn’t there?

Maybe she’s happy like this. I’ve tried talking to her about it, and she does seem just fine with the status quo. Ed told me it’s not my place to worry about it; if she doesn’t want anything better then who am I to force it on her. Just because I want fireworks and scooters and food fights and raspberries for dinner doesn’t mean it’s what everyone else wants or needs – some people are fine with all this. Some people don’t miss excitement. Some people are content having nothing – or maybe they just have nothing I would want for myself.

That’s it, isn’t it. There’s nothing wrong with the life my mother is living; it’s just not what I want for myself. And that’s fine, because this ISN’T my life – and as long as she’s okay with what she has, my distaste for everything presently around me is of absolutely no concern to anyone. On Monday morning, I can go home to my own life and cats and friends and toys and not worry that I’m going to wake up in a life that’s far removed from what I want. I can do the Good Daughter thing for that long. If all else fails, there’s a liquor store down the street.

Remind me to tell you what happened at the Space Station this week, okay?