This week was hard. We met in our park and talked, but the conversation was exhausting. According to Carol, most everyone is out to get her. Her evil sisters and her evil neighbors, the evil credit card company, the evil apartment managers, the evil electric company. She talks with a low, harsh, monotone voice, like her parrot, Pebbles. And when she's especially anxious, her large hazel eyes dart back and forth, scanning the park for evil suspects. She went on and on and on. I spoke a total of...probably ten minutes...in one and a half hours. I'm not exaggerating. When I did speak it was to mention that, possibly, her evil neighbors weren't so evil because they asked her an insensitive question about her husband's death. Maybe they just didn't know what to say. Alot of times people don't know what to say. She ignored me. Talked over me. Acted like she didn't hear me. I got tired. My back hurt. My head throbbed. She called someone a bitch every 20 minutes. She trusts me and Seth and another girl in our apartment complex, halfway trusts the woman across the way, and that's it, she says.
It's starting to weird me out. I don't know if that's good or bad.
She brought me two cards she wrote to Tim when he was alive. One for their 10th anniversary and one for their 11th. Just so I could see what she wrote to him, how she felt about him.
She made an appointment to take Misty to the vet to put her to sleep. The tumor on Misty's lip is getting too big, and she's having a hard time eating. She showed me an email she received about a place where dogs go when they die. A place "this side of heaven" called "Rainbow Bridge", where they wait for their owners in the afterlife. Carol seemed disappointed. She said she wasn't sure about it, because she wanted Misty to be with Tim, not waiting for her on Rainbow Bridge. I didn't know what to say.
Friday's the day. I think I'll send her a card. She'd like that.