well-dressed foolish ideas

So, in order of thought process, here's what's been on my mind lately. Please note that all names have been changed to protect the innocent.

So I have this friend, Frank. He's in this relationship, that frankly, I know too much about. I haven't talked with Frank in a while, but to be honest, I don't really have much that I want to say to him. The only things I have said to him lately have been here, in my very own cryptic tongue. And I meant it. I did it on purpose. I put the blog entry up to tell him something. I wonder what he meant when he said he would stop the madness, stop the insanity. It's not over for him, but that's his choice and I don't have anything to do with it. And I won't.

My doctor, Frank, told me I have stuff in my ears. I don't know what that means. And I don't know if there should be stuff in my ears or not. Frank also told me to stay home this week.

I decided not to go to the states for Christmas this year. A lot of reasons are behind this decision, but two of them are - I don't want to and I can't afford to. Yes, that's right. I don't want to go spend the holidays with my family. My brother, Frank, will just be off with his new little kid, anyways, and my other brother, Frank, might not even be in the same state. This leaves me with... well...

I have this mother, Frank. He has some health problems. He just went to the doctor in the last few weeks and got a diagnosis that scared the shit out of me. I haven't spoken to him on the phone for a number of months. I can't. I can't bring myself to talk to him. It's a conversation that would be riddled with "Why?" "What do you mean you aren't coming to my house for Christmas?" "How could you make that decision?" "Why?" "Why aren't you ever home?" "Why?" "What do you do all day?" "Why?" and a few more "Why?" questions thrown in for good measure. And my only answer is "Because" "I mean I'm not going to fly to the states for Christmas" "It wasn't easy" "Because" "Because" "Because" "Stuff" "Because" and a few more "Because" replies. Frank thinks of me as a 12 year old, and I wouldn't blame him for that except I'm not 12. Frank treats me like a 12 year old, and I wouldn't blame him except I'm not 12. He throws guilt trip after guilt trip at me, partly because he's scared out of his wits at losing his children, and partly because it worked in the past. He threatens me with things like hey don't be like your brother, Frank, because if you do that, I'll take you out of the will and never talk to you again. Frank and I can never have a conversation about Frank and I, or how Frank is doing or how I am doing. We always have to talk about one of my brothers and how badly they are treating Frank. We always talk about the injustices that he has to deal with, the horrible behavior of my brothers, how bad or mean or disrespectful or horrible they treat him. I have to then try to figure out what to do with this information when I talk to either of my brothers. And now it's not just my brothers that are doing it, but I've hopped on the bandwagon, what with not phoning Frank in a couple of months and most of the time not being around when he calls. And not answering when I am around. And then there's this health thing with Frank. The scare-me-out-of-my-wits health thing. Even though it probably shouldn't be as frightening, it just is. And I am not dealing so well with it.

I can't sleep very well. Well, I can't sleep when I want to. And I can't manage to stay awake when I want to. It's like narcolepsy, only it's selective and disturbingly so. My vision is fuzzy, but only when I put stuff in my eye, so I'm not entirely worried about that. I'm constantly cold, I can't do much to change that - I've tried. The thermostat is at 25 and I always have a blanket over me and lots of clothes to keep me warm, although it doesn't. My joints ache and my head throbs, but only in alternating fashion so aches and throbs never occur at the same time. I'm nervous, anxious and agitated. My hand shakes when I lift it to see if it's shaking. I'm worried. And I'm feeling mostly solitary.

There's also Frank. I adore Frank. I don't get Frank. He's a difficult card to read sometimes. Frank knows about my mother's health situation. Frank doesn't know much about my not having talked to my mother in a couple of months. Frank knows I'm miserable right now. He doesn't particularly like me that much when I'm miserable. Hey, Frank, frankly, neither do I, but that's a thing for another day. Bottom line about Frank is... I miss Frank.

I don't know how to ask Frank for support without being entirely terrified that he is going to tell me to piss off. I don't know how to ask Frank for help without being entirely terrified that Frank will laugh in my face. Because, frankly, I'm not very practiced at knowing how or when to say - Help me out here. I think I need a little assistance.