Return to Work... I Don't Think So

 I got home from my mums to a message on my answering machine from HR @ work wanting to know when my return date was? My head spun toward the machine like Linda Blair. I'm sure my eyes would have glowed green at that moment, if you'd been quick enough to catch them in that millisecond. Maybe, a growl like a wolf. They thought I was returning on March 2nd. Monday? This coming Monday? Jasus fuck! Body shiver. Apparently, Beck is sick with some allergic reaction to penicillin, or something. Spots all over her body. They thought I'd be back to cover for her. Green vomit across the kitchen walls... diarrhoea dribbling down the backs of my legs! Shuddering!

"Call me back when you have a moment," said our HR manager.

I told them it was April 1st, when I was supposed to be returning, not the beginning of March.

And then I sucked in breath and bit the bullet and ignored all of my procrastination regarding the safety of a wage and said that I now wanted to take 12 months off, which would mean I wouldn't return until midway through August.

"Oh... okay," said the HR chick. "You know we want you to come back, don't you? You know we don't want to lose you."

Yeah, yeah, tell it to the judge, I thought.

I told them I was looking after my mother, whose mental state is deteriorating, which it is. And which I am - I spend every second day with her. I guess, I don't, actually, talk about her that much. My beautiful, intelligent, gorgeous mother. She is going down, it is terribly sad. Heart breaking. Awful. She's not my mother any more, some strange, demented old woman has taken her place. And then, of course, she is my mother. Soon, I'll be going to see her every day and not long after that, I guess, I'll be moving in with her. It's inevitable. She's not going into a home, I'm going to make sure of that.

She's had a great life, travelled the world, lived, loved, had children in her 40's, been happily married, had a privileged and happy life. She's had it all.

But the up side is, no work until mid August.

May be I should just throw caution to the fucking wind and resign and be done with it? Then I'd have to take this writing gig seriously, hey?