I couldn't do it
Jun. 7th, 2018 09:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
franklanguageToday was mom's memorial, and I got the day off from both my clients to go to Branford, Connecticut for the burial of her ashes next to my dad's coffin.
I was to sign away my rights to be buried in the family plot [gladly], but forgot I needed to be there for this; so I decided to play hooky—from my job and from the memorial—and instead take a personal day. Steve—my brother—called me around 9 AM. "What are you doing?" he asked frantically.. Eve—my sister—had intended to send me the form, but apparently had figured I was coming up so sending the form was one less thing she had to do. We hadn't even been able to talk last weekend, because she'd been mad at me.
I still haven't talked to her—she's presumably still mad—but Steve gave me the number of the cemetery and I had them e-mail me the release form, which I signed in the presence of a notary and faxed back. Done and done.
I also had to go down to the Supreme Court building because I had gotten a Jury Duty summons the other day, and I'm deaf as a post. (Well, not deaf as a post, but tinnitus prevents me from hearing in the echo chamber that most courtrooms are.) I'd been excused from service over 20 years ago, and then I mysteriously received a summons again about a week ago. Why should I go up to every judge whose jury I'm potentially a juror on, only to have to tell each one I can't serve?
Unfortunately, I only got two years, after which I'll have to get tested again. "It's not going to get any better," I said. Supposedly I hadn't given them enough information—but tinnitus doesn't show up on audiologists' tests. And, as I said, it doesn't go away—mine doesn't, in which the auditory nerve is damaged—I'm not hoping it gets worse in two years, but it's not going to get better.
Actually, I wish I could have gone to the memorial, but it would have been difficult getting there. I got cold feet: all these people I hadn't seen in years, that—in truth—didn't give a rat's ass about me. I just couldn't do it.
I was to sign away my rights to be buried in the family plot [gladly], but forgot I needed to be there for this; so I decided to play hooky—from my job and from the memorial—and instead take a personal day. Steve—my brother—called me around 9 AM. "What are you doing?" he asked frantically.. Eve—my sister—had intended to send me the form, but apparently had figured I was coming up so sending the form was one less thing she had to do. We hadn't even been able to talk last weekend, because she'd been mad at me.
I still haven't talked to her—she's presumably still mad—but Steve gave me the number of the cemetery and I had them e-mail me the release form, which I signed in the presence of a notary and faxed back. Done and done.
I also had to go down to the Supreme Court building because I had gotten a Jury Duty summons the other day, and I'm deaf as a post. (Well, not deaf as a post, but tinnitus prevents me from hearing in the echo chamber that most courtrooms are.) I'd been excused from service over 20 years ago, and then I mysteriously received a summons again about a week ago. Why should I go up to every judge whose jury I'm potentially a juror on, only to have to tell each one I can't serve?
Unfortunately, I only got two years, after which I'll have to get tested again. "It's not going to get any better," I said. Supposedly I hadn't given them enough information—but tinnitus doesn't show up on audiologists' tests. And, as I said, it doesn't go away—mine doesn't, in which the auditory nerve is damaged—I'm not hoping it gets worse in two years, but it's not going to get better.
Actually, I wish I could have gone to the memorial, but it would have been difficult getting there. I got cold feet: all these people I hadn't seen in years, that—in truth—didn't give a rat's ass about me. I just couldn't do it.