What kind of fresh hell is this?
The very same night of the day I had to collect him from the hospital, I think he's talking on his phone in his bedroom.
I ask him to get off the phone long enough to have privacy to take a shower. All of a sudden, I realize he's actually talking to a half naked man in his room and smoking meth.
He didn't warn me.
He. almost. just. died. of. an. overdose. He put his mother and me through hell. Of course he doesn't sleep. The guy leaves at 12 p.m. nearly overcome by heat exhaustion.
At 6 p.m. he gets a call from a second person who he tells me is coming at 8 p.m. and who is still here now.
The main takeaway from the hospital is that his blood pressure and heart rate are all kinds of wrong.
W.t.f?!
I'm not sharing this information with his mother. She's on the verge of a heart attack from stress.
I'm speechless. I can hear their boring conversation right now in my room.
I was very careful not to be dragged into any arguments, and I didn't have the energy to be ill tempered because I worked like a dog.
How rude is this?
Read the room?
The universe is trying to tell you something but you're not listening?
He's still trying to blame me for everything while taking responsibility for nothing.
I've been invited to spend Friday at his mother's house all day in the air-conditioning so I don't have to be here while the crew is ripping the roof off and putting the new one on.
I only have to wait here until they get here and then let them know to call me and I can be back in a few minutes if they need anything.
I plan to go, to smile, to be amiable, and keep my mouth shut.
