I'm Back, Back In the New York Groove

 {title stolen from Back In the New York Groove by Ace Frehly}

Well hey there, Blogosphere! Is there even a Blogosphere anymore? 

So, yeah, it’s been five years since I published an entry. 

Here’s a quick update:

-My dad is still dead.

-My mom is still alive. She’s 78.

-I am not a workout enthusiast anymore, but I do Pilates and I try not to eat myself out of my clothes.

-I’m closer to 50 than I am to 40.

-My family survived the worst of the pandemic, and we all still like each other.

-I finally took a writing class. My classmates became my pandemic writing pod and we never missed our weekly Zoom meetings. Even when Ronni lost her mom to Covid.

-I never stopped writing. Now I have a writing coach who is making sure I never do.

-My brother Tim still has Primary Progressive Mulitple Sclerosis. He’s almost wheelchair-bound.

-My brother also has Schizotypal Disorder and engages in “magical thinking” which makes it difficult to help him understand that PPMS cannot be cured by strengthening his mind. 

-On October 12, 2021, I became a mother for the second and third time. I adopted an indigent 77-year-old and her 47-year-old disabled son. 

Yep, mom fell, broke her shoulder, and I instantly became a triple-decker member of the Sandwich Generation.

And man, does it suck! 

I have a full-time job caring and planning for my brother and my mother--who live together in Georgia--while simultaneously caring and planning for my child, who lives in my home. In New York. 

And since my parents never prepared for Tim’s future, the devil woman my dad married became his sole life insurance and pension beneficiary, and she kinda gleefully relayed that after Papa kicked the bucket. He’s so lucky he’s dead. 

My mom has a lifelong aversion to sound financial choices, so she and my brother literally cannot afford to live without each other. My brother has been infantilized by codependency. If they're lucky, Mom will never need long-term care. If they're unlucky, the state of Georgia will collect. In every scenario, my brother gets screwed. 

But! Some good, a lot of good, has come of this; I’ve spent so much time with my brother over the past year. I haven’t lived near him for 27 years; I left when I was twenty, and Tim was left behind. He's sort of a 1995 human time capsule.

So, I’m going to write. Not just about what a fucking nightmare it is to be in my position, the good stuff too. 

Formerly Fat Mom is in a good place so I’m leaving her behind (pun intended). I don’t need her anymore. 

Alison the sister and daughter is on shaky ground. 

Alison the writer needs an outlet. So here I am.

Here's a picture of Tim pretending he doesn't find me entertaining as hell.