"Punished"

I didn't sleep well last night.  I got up and dragged myself into the shower, shaved my legs, etc.  I got ready for work. 

Our ride came around 6 AM, we had another pickup.  We went into another subdivision, somewhat in the direction of work, and picked up a "slow" client in a wheelchair.  She had about the mental capacity of a 6 month old baby, babbling nonsense, yelling, throwing her shoes, etc.  It was very distracting. 

Ron kept asking me how she ended up this way.  I took a sharp look at her and told Ron (later) she probably had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome.  FAS is the leading cause of mental deficits.  He said something about the birth mother being "punished" by having to care for her (the other client was at least 20 years old). 

Not really, I replied.  Most FAS victims end up raised by someone other than the birth mother.  So an innocent family member, stepmother, grandmother, aunt, or older sibling is "punished". 

Does that mean I am being "punished" by "having" to take care of Ron?  I don't think so.  I signed up for this.  I didn't know he would become an alcoholic or verbally abusive, but I had a pretty good inkling about the rest of it.  I figured he would deteriorate physically. 

Punished?  I don't think so. 

At any rate, we got to work and I didn't have a whole lot to do.  I stocked what I could (I didn't have any Snickers Almond, and I needed them), helped Ron, etc.  I got the sandwiches and stocked them.  I did pastry. 

We were ready a little early so we went out.  Then we discovered our ride wasn't coming for another 20 minutes.  Ugh.  It was hot and miserable.  I put Ron under the tree. 

We had a little of excitement when the driver arrived, she came through the gate (she pushed the button and apparently was buzzed in).  That's a big NO!   We loaded quickly and left. 

She was confused about the traffic changes but took a route that satisfied her and kept her away from the closures.  We got home. 

I took a nap.  I didn't have any cats but Torbie ran across the bed a few times. 

I had a pretty good nap and woke up before the alarm.  I got ready to go, we were going to Walmart.  I needed to put in my refills and get a few other things (bananas). 

Our ride was late.  I am starting to think we cannot have an on-time afternoon trip.  The ride was so late, they sent "Protection".  Remember the song about the cleanup woman?  That's what protection does, picks up the trips that are far behind schedule, or the original driver cannot perform it.  He was nice, young, and very new.  He did a good job, though.  He got Ron onboard safely, secured the wheelchair, checked our "papers", etc. 

Ron arranged for me to get an hour at Walmart.  I got my bananas, and banana chips.  I got some no-sugar added, chunky, natural, peanut butter.  I had some sunflower butter (made from the seeds, of course), but it had added sugar.  I am trying to avoid added sugars. 

I bought a case of cat food and some things for Ron.  I was done. 

I checked out.  Everything cost about $40.  I found Ron.  I was pretty hungry, so I opened up my bag of pork rinds.  I shared them with Ron, and, when I was done, I gave them to him.  I only got the pork rinds because I was hungry and wanted a "legal" snack. 

Later on, I caught Ron feeding pork rinds to Baby Girl.  She likes to lick the flavoring off the rind, and bite it.  Yuck. 

Hopefully she won't get sick. 

We came home with a nice African driver.  He was teasing us because we know a bad word in Arabic.  He was fun. 

We got home and I took everything in the house.  I put away the butter and Ron's drink (Diet Dr Pepper).  I put the bananas away.  I stored the cat food in the stack of cat food I have on the table, much to Biscuit's delight. 

I got on the computer for a while, watched Intervention.  I am always so happy when they get clean but some of the "before" stories run a little too close to home.  Speaking of, there's Ron drinking in the kitchen.

Biscuit got agitated, wanting his dinner.  I feed him at either 6 or 6:30 PM.  If I feed him too early he will eat it all up and get hungry in the middle of the night.  Ron got upset and started calling me names because I wouldn't feed Biscuit. 

I told Ron I had to clean the litter boxes, then I would feed Biscuit.  That wasn't good enough for Ron, more name calling and verbal abuse.  I cleaned the boxes.  I mean, I had to, anyway. 

I washed my hands (of course!) and fed the cats.  In the meantime Ron had gone into his bedroom and was attempting to feed the cats treats.  Food trumps treats, for the cats.  I "won".  Everyone ate their fill and was happy. 

I turned off Intervention.  I was pretty depressed by now.  I mean, at least I had taken care of the cats, some dry food had gotten into the water when Baby Girl head-butted my hand with the scoop of food, so I had changed that out in addition to changing the litter and feeding them. 

But Ron was just hateful and mean.  I told him he could feed the cats if he wanted, but he doesn't want to mess with the wet food.  He just thought he could abuse me into doing what he wanted. 

He is still taking Tylenol with alcohol, so I imagine his liver is a hot mess right now.  I have said everything I can on the subject, but he won't hear it.  I think one some level he wants to die. 

And I'm just plogging through my day to day, trying to keep my head above the stormy seas of depression.  It's exhausting.  Add worry for/about Ron into the equation and it get really toxic.  Add all that into being on the heels of Ron verbally abusing me, it's a real mess. 

But I try not to have pity parties.  His grandfather was a notorious alcoholic and died in his 90's, so who's to say how long Ron might make it? 

Ugh.  It is my Friday night, I have two days off in a row.  Tomorrow we just get something to eat, that's all. 

Wednesday I pick up my prescriptions.