I was distracted while she made suggestions on my letter. Maybe I was still stinging from her telling me it was “terrible,” but she was making good points about what to change and why. I was just struggling to stay focused on them. It made me feel worried about the future.
“Do your legs hurt?” she asked suddenly.
She rolled her eyes.
“Why do you do that? Every time I have anxiety you roll your eyes. I never did that to you.”
“Not EVERY time.”
“No sometimes you just get mad, of you just sigh really loudly.”
“Well it’s annoying. Sometimes you just need to suck it up and get over it.”
“I have never done that to you. I never roll my eyes at you when you feel bad or have anxiety.”
“Because I didn’t tell you.”
“You asked me.”
“I didn’t have to ask you, you were just glazed over and not even paying attention. You won’t even engage.”
“I was shifting my weight. I was doing a good job and I was asking questions and we were talking. It is hard for me but I was doing a good job.”
“I would think you would have read my suggestions by now. What have you been doing?”
“When? I was reading books with N, and then lying on the floor with her.”
“What were you doing while you were lying on the floor?”
“I was resting.”
I was reading twitter. Truthfully I really was resting by doing that, I just didn’t want to say I was reading.
“I’m sick of being a coach.”
“What does that mean?”
“That I’m sick of being a coach.”
“I have to coach you, I have to coach the kids, nobody ever helps me.”
“I always help you.”
“We’ll it’s never urgent.”
“Is this about the shed?” She had asked me to clean out the shed/studio so she could use the whole building and not just the front half. I hadn’t finished it all winter and finally spent the remaining four hours on it a few weeks ago, after she suddenly became furious over it.
“When else?” I asked. ” I always help you.”
“Other things. You just don’t take me seriously.”
“Yes I do. Very seriously. Look, if you’re going be resentful about helping me then stop helping me.
I don’t want your help if that’s how it’s going to be. I wanted you to read the letter because I was proud of it. I thought it was good.”
“What? You wanted help on it. Oh are you going to be all hurt now?”
“Yeah I do, but I was proud of it. I don’t want your help at all if you resent helping me.”
There was silence for a while . I stared at the solitaire game on my phone at the counter while she stood behind me. I did not want to look up.
“Are you going to say anything?” I asked.
Then silence again.
“Here, call your prescription in,” she said, picking up and slamming my anxiety medication on the counter. “I didn’t do it for you. I stopped helping.”