If you are a friend (regular reader of this blog) you know that Bear has been stuck in the sharp, jagged claws of a fierce and immensly evil virus.
If you've just happened to stumble upon this blog ("Next Blog" feature, upper left hand corner Blogger blogs) Bear is my (baby boy) soon to be 21 year old son.
Anyway, Bear has been sick as hell.
He's also been (more) ornery (than usual).
(His being ornery has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he's been sick for almost two weeks and claims to be near death due not to fever or fatigue, but rather (according to him) because he is being smothered...)
"TOMORROW I TURN OFF MY PHONE" he spats at me..
(not literally, yo)
"YOU AND DAD burned up my phone today, you each called about 20 times to check on me" he continued.
"Uh, I only called twice and texted twice" I defended myself.
"TWICE... EVERY FIFTEEN MINUTES !!!" Bear scowled.
Every day there has been discussion (ARGUMENT) about Bear going to work.
"You CAN'T work" I order.
"I CAN'T NOT WORK" Bear responds.
"You'll hurt yourself, you'll kill yourself, you'll be maimed for life, you won't reach 21, you'll have a lifetime of problems, you will infect the entire universe, you'll fall down in the parking lot at work and fry in the sweltering sun, you'll have a seizure, a stroke"
(taking a gulp of air...)
"you will get cancer, you will need a blood transfusion, this will lead to Type II Diabetes, this could make you sterile or you could go blind
Or deaf...do you hear me? You could go deaf"
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-se take the mother effin day off! Please take the day off, don't do this to me or to yourself. Take some time off, get well, please!! you are going to hurt yourself, kill yourself, maim yourself, suffer lifelong consequences for this unwise behavior !!!".
"I have to work" Bear said
"I have responsibilities, they count on me there, no one else does what I do" he continued.
"Well.... then, what are they going to do when you die at your desk...? Hmmm, what are they going to do then? Get someone else to do your job... or rely on a corpse to do the work?"
"Mom, you are an idiot"
"I have to work, and I don't want to talk about it anymore"
When my own mother called to find out how Bear was feeling I told her of our exchange and my frustration with Bear's (really amazing) work ethic.
"He is a freakin idiot" I told Marmie.
"He's going to kill himself, maim himself, create lifelong problems, develop a flesh eating bacteria...." I cried.
"Elizabeth" Marmie said "have you ever thought of giving him (back) some control over his life...?"
"MOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Bear screamed later when I brought the subject back up " ENOUGH!!!!"
"I AM GO-ING TO WORK"
"NUTHIN YOU CAN SAY OR DO IS GOING TO CHANGE THAT...UNDERSTAND???"
Doing my best Marmie impersionation I took another stab at getting Bear to lay on the davenport another day...
"Son, I KNOW you will do what is right for you. You know yourself best, if you feel strong enough to work, then you go. I have confidence that you will take good care of yourself, make the best decision about work. Sometimes I forget that you are an adult and in charge of your own life... I trust you Bear, really I do."
Bear decided he is too sick to go to work.
(Thank you dear, dear wise Marmie, sometimes a girls gotta know when to bring in da big guns)
Dear Marmie.... you rock!