Same old, same old.

Days are never easy. My parents are still my parents, still making one another's life a pain. I tried giving them one of G's credit cards, so they would stop constantly bickering over money (They're not poor, just annoying), but they still almost divorced four times and killed one another once by the time they returned from their weekly shopping. Mum is trying hard, but I know that if she makes any kind of mistakes - like missing a road exit today and having to drive around - dad won't shut up about it and then when she kicks him in the balls, he is suddenly the victim and the tortured old man. I called to ask how he is and he explained his usual, how bad everything is, closing with: Let us see if we survive this night ...

Well. I've lived with their bullshit for over forty years. I worry all the time, but they haven't managed to kill one another yet. I'm sure someday they will and two nice police officers will knock on my door to inform me, and this tragedy will tear me to pieces, but ... I am kinda really not even invested anymore. "I just don't know what to do anymore..." Well, dada, every time you cry for help, five people come running, rain or shine, night or day, heat or snow, to try and advise and support you and ready to do anything you think is right, two days later you tell us all to go fuck ourselves for being judgmental and to mind our own business. This happens once a month for the past ... at least twenty years. And of course he is riding his 'poor old man' train hard and will tell me to uselessly go fuck myself if I don't know how to set up subtitles on his channel, or if I ask if he'd manage to stay alive for two weeks on his own, and yet he's never had to set up a doctor's visit in his entire existence. It's mum who manages all that and drives him. He has no idea what the name of his doctor is, what medication he needs or how to ask for a prescription. So. You either need mum or you don't, dad. You don't even know how to answer a flip phone, because mum always answers the phone. 

G and I have been going uphill to try and mow some of the vineyard - due to constant rain and dad not being able to work the estate anymore, the terraces have turned to a jungle. We need to spray the vines, we just have to make our way to them first. Ooh, but the fringes are overgrown with raspberries and I love raspberries! And the bees do, too!

I attempted to extract the atlas from a decrepit dog cadaver I found by the road. I should probably try again with my eyes open, because it takes a certain kind of idiot to mistakenly extract the pelvis. In my defence, the cadaver is a mess. It's melted into black goo with ribs sticking out like a broken wicker basket. Being overgrown and me not really wishing to look too closely, I am not even sure there IS a skull. There sure weren't any femurs. G is not too happy, but I barked at him that when he brings the taxidermist a skull it's a trophy, but when I do it, I need professional help. I've put the thing, whatever it is, on an anthill to clean. 

I'm in a mood for a zombie movie. I haven't seen a good one in a long time.