Taking it easy is going to be tough for her.”
“I can teach her,” said Seth. “Taking it easy is my specialty.”
“Just because she’s taking it easy doesn’t mean you are,” said Eustace. “Everyone is going to have to pull together to keep this place going if she’s going to be down for a while.” Then he took the tea and blanket upstairs to Prudence.
He is so nice!
Seth hooked a finger at me and said never to trust the medical system. “We’ll research this terrible situation ourselves using the people’s tool.”
“The people’s tool?” I said.
“Also known as the Internet. That’s where the smart money goes to find out what’s wrong with them. All you have to do is plug in your symptoms and then you get a diagnosis. Your health is too important to leave to doctors.”
So me and Seth went on his computer and it was really fun. We had Ripples chips and No-Name pop for dinner because Prudence was in her room and wouldn’t catch us. Getting to research and take charge is part of why I love living on Woefield Farm.
Seth
H oly shit. That’s all I have to say. The Interwebs is a terrifying place from a trying-not-to-die perspective. Little Sara and I spent some time researching Prudence’s symptoms. Eustace and her doctor were correct that Prudence has many of the signs of hypothyroidism and/or mono, as well as early onset dementia.
What if she’s crocked and I get stuck running this place and nursemaiding her? I’m just beginning to flower over here, personal-development-wise. The loss of Prudence could shut me down for real. No time for meetings and recovery. Hardly any time to watch TV or go online to surf music and celebrity gossip. No time to find a girlfriend.
FFS. This could be a nightmare.
Sure, right now Eustace is being Mr. Helpful. Taking Prudence to the doctor and getting her blankets and tea. But how long will that last? He’s a busy guy. Got that whole hot vet thing going on. He’ll be able to help out with Prudence a few hours a day, max. The rest of it will fall on my shoulders.
They say people stop maturing when they start drinking or getting high in a serious way. That makes me approximately thirteen years old right now. I am on the verge of calling social services on behalf of myself.
Not coping. That’s the slogan for the day. Easy does it. One day at a time. Think, think, think, and not coping.
I’m also concerned because Prudence is one of my favorite people. She’s got all that energy and she’s non-neurotic, which is a rare thing. When things go wrong, she never takes it personally. She just figures out a way to fix the problem. She takes the same approach to people.
When Prudence asks you to do something, you get this sense that she has total faith in you, even if nothing you’ve ever done or said should give her cause for confidence. Her optimism is so strong it overpowers everything in its path, even advanced incompetence and unwillingness.
So if she’s got the early onset dementia or mono or is having a glandular meltdown or any of the other heinous disorders my research points to, I won’t let her down. I’ll take care of her until the end if I have to. Bury her in the backyard! By hand! That would be some Old Testament shit, because we basically have no dirt here on Woefield. Seriously. There’s a half-inch of dust and grass and then it’s solid bedrock. If we end up burying Prudence here after a long drawn-out illness during which we (mostly me) tend selflessly to her every need (a feat of kindness and compassion that catches the attention of numerous eligible and attractive women), I may have to put her in one of the raised beds, just on account of my back. We’ll call it the Prudence Burns Memorial Raised Bed. We’ll plant flowers in it. Not the kind you put on salads, either, which is usually the only kind Prudence lets us grow. Maybe dahlias. I don’t think they’re edible.
Whatever.
As I was emotionally processing the situation, I
“I can teach her,” said Seth. “Taking it easy is my specialty.”
“Just because she’s taking it easy doesn’t mean you are,” said Eustace. “Everyone is going to have to pull together to keep this place going if she’s going to be down for a while.” Then he took the tea and blanket upstairs to Prudence.
He is so nice!
Seth hooked a finger at me and said never to trust the medical system. “We’ll research this terrible situation ourselves using the people’s tool.”
“The people’s tool?” I said.
“Also known as the Internet. That’s where the smart money goes to find out what’s wrong with them. All you have to do is plug in your symptoms and then you get a diagnosis. Your health is too important to leave to doctors.”
So me and Seth went on his computer and it was really fun. We had Ripples chips and No-Name pop for dinner because Prudence was in her room and wouldn’t catch us. Getting to research and take charge is part of why I love living on Woefield Farm.
Seth
H oly shit. That’s all I have to say. The Interwebs is a terrifying place from a trying-not-to-die perspective. Little Sara and I spent some time researching Prudence’s symptoms. Eustace and her doctor were correct that Prudence has many of the signs of hypothyroidism and/or mono, as well as early onset dementia.
What if she’s crocked and I get stuck running this place and nursemaiding her? I’m just beginning to flower over here, personal-development-wise. The loss of Prudence could shut me down for real. No time for meetings and recovery. Hardly any time to watch TV or go online to surf music and celebrity gossip. No time to find a girlfriend.
FFS. This could be a nightmare.
Sure, right now Eustace is being Mr. Helpful. Taking Prudence to the doctor and getting her blankets and tea. But how long will that last? He’s a busy guy. Got that whole hot vet thing going on. He’ll be able to help out with Prudence a few hours a day, max. The rest of it will fall on my shoulders.
They say people stop maturing when they start drinking or getting high in a serious way. That makes me approximately thirteen years old right now. I am on the verge of calling social services on behalf of myself.
Not coping. That’s the slogan for the day. Easy does it. One day at a time. Think, think, think, and not coping.
I’m also concerned because Prudence is one of my favorite people. She’s got all that energy and she’s non-neurotic, which is a rare thing. When things go wrong, she never takes it personally. She just figures out a way to fix the problem. She takes the same approach to people.
When Prudence asks you to do something, you get this sense that she has total faith in you, even if nothing you’ve ever done or said should give her cause for confidence. Her optimism is so strong it overpowers everything in its path, even advanced incompetence and unwillingness.
So if she’s got the early onset dementia or mono or is having a glandular meltdown or any of the other heinous disorders my research points to, I won’t let her down. I’ll take care of her until the end if I have to. Bury her in the backyard! By hand! That would be some Old Testament shit, because we basically have no dirt here on Woefield. Seriously. There’s a half-inch of dust and grass and then it’s solid bedrock. If we end up burying Prudence here after a long drawn-out illness during which we (mostly me) tend selflessly to her every need (a feat of kindness and compassion that catches the attention of numerous eligible and attractive women), I may have to put her in one of the raised beds, just on account of my back. We’ll call it the Prudence Burns Memorial Raised Bed. We’ll plant flowers in it. Not the kind you put on salads, either, which is usually the only kind Prudence lets us grow. Maybe dahlias. I don’t think they’re edible.
Whatever.
As I was emotionally processing the situation, I
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