suicide over breadsticks
May. 15th, 2011 10:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hoosierbitchSo, my uncle's here!
Ahaha.
I laugh because it's actually not funny at all.
*sigh*
Any story with Crazy Uncle starts off with some drama about his arrival. He's been on the train for four days, he broke his toe right before he left (tangled it in a microwave cord, fell over, broke the microwave and hit his head on a dresser), he didn't eat the entire trip, he has a wallet full of (alleged) phone numbers that everyone on the train gave him, and he arrived Saturday night at 7:30 instead of Friday at 7:15 or Saturday at 7pm, which is when he'd told various family members at different times that he'd be arriving. But, y'know, waiting at the Amtrak station is SO MUCH FUN, I totally didn't mind.
Yeah. So. My uncle. His folks threw him out of the house when he was 17 because he was gay, and his life's kind of gone downhill from there. Prison, living out of hotels, getting fired from strings of jobs for stealing/drinking/drug use, and homelessness. Woo. He's stayed with us off-and-on my entire life, because if it's a choice between than and a street corner my dad can't really say no (Crazy Uncle's my mom's brother). But he's stolen from us a few times, and left town with leases and car rentals hanging in the air which my family then has to pay for.
tl;dr - Not a perfect man.
I picked him up from the train station yesterday, after a bit of a trial in the lobby (they lost one of his bags, I had to practically drag him away from the baggage window because there's nothing they can do now). Then I took him out to dinner.
...I think my uncle's planning on committing suicide in two weeks.
Uh. So there's that.
He kept talking about how he made a decision, and aren't decisions great?, and how he feels really at peace now, and blah blah blah. He's done living in motels, he says.
"Great!" says I. "Then where are you going to live?" I asks.
"..."
And then he rambled for most of the meal very loudly about how no one visited him when he was in prison or that other time when he tried to commit suicide and was in the hospital for a while, and then the waittress would come up and he'd flirt very loudly, because he thinks it's charming and is also 3/4 deaf. And then he'd talk about how hard it is being the only gay person in the family (apparently I don't count), and how no one likes him because he's gay, especailly my father. My father who teaches Women's and Masculinity Studies. I'm sure my dad's dislike has NOTHING to do with the thousands of dollars he's lost thanks to my uncle. Apparently the fact that my father doesn't hug him means he hates him for being gay. Not that he has other, very valid reasons for disliking him.
I felt bad for the folks sitting at the table next to us. Their conversation died around the time my uncle started banging on the table going THEY ONLY LET IMMEDIATE FAMILY VISIT YOU IN FEDERAL PRISON! AT LEAST I'M NOT A RAPIST!
Which is better than someone yelling "I AM A RAPIST!" but I don't think by very much.
So. My folks will be home tomorrow. And despite the fact that Crazy Uncle asked me...four? Five? times not to tell my mother anything that he said, I'm going to give her the summary and let her deal with it. Because he was pretty firm on the two week deadline, and very clear about how he thinks his life is pathetic (it kind of is), and he doesn't want to live like this anymore.
But if he had a used car, EVERYTHING WOULD BE MAGICALLY BETTER.
Because he is crazy in the head. So. We'll see what happens in two weeks! I am off to Panera to eat a bagel and see what happens when I try to write. Um. Hopefully Uncle doesn't kill himself/burn the house down/drink all the booze/lose any of the dogs while I'm gone!
Ahaha.
I laugh because it's actually not funny at all.
*sigh*
Any story with Crazy Uncle starts off with some drama about his arrival. He's been on the train for four days, he broke his toe right before he left (tangled it in a microwave cord, fell over, broke the microwave and hit his head on a dresser), he didn't eat the entire trip, he has a wallet full of (alleged) phone numbers that everyone on the train gave him, and he arrived Saturday night at 7:30 instead of Friday at 7:15 or Saturday at 7pm, which is when he'd told various family members at different times that he'd be arriving. But, y'know, waiting at the Amtrak station is SO MUCH FUN, I totally didn't mind.
Yeah. So. My uncle. His folks threw him out of the house when he was 17 because he was gay, and his life's kind of gone downhill from there. Prison, living out of hotels, getting fired from strings of jobs for stealing/drinking/drug use, and homelessness. Woo. He's stayed with us off-and-on my entire life, because if it's a choice between than and a street corner my dad can't really say no (Crazy Uncle's my mom's brother). But he's stolen from us a few times, and left town with leases and car rentals hanging in the air which my family then has to pay for.
tl;dr - Not a perfect man.
I picked him up from the train station yesterday, after a bit of a trial in the lobby (they lost one of his bags, I had to practically drag him away from the baggage window because there's nothing they can do now). Then I took him out to dinner.
...I think my uncle's planning on committing suicide in two weeks.
Uh. So there's that.
He kept talking about how he made a decision, and aren't decisions great?, and how he feels really at peace now, and blah blah blah. He's done living in motels, he says.
"Great!" says I. "Then where are you going to live?" I asks.
"..."
And then he rambled for most of the meal very loudly about how no one visited him when he was in prison or that other time when he tried to commit suicide and was in the hospital for a while, and then the waittress would come up and he'd flirt very loudly, because he thinks it's charming and is also 3/4 deaf. And then he'd talk about how hard it is being the only gay person in the family (apparently I don't count), and how no one likes him because he's gay, especailly my father. My father who teaches Women's and Masculinity Studies. I'm sure my dad's dislike has NOTHING to do with the thousands of dollars he's lost thanks to my uncle. Apparently the fact that my father doesn't hug him means he hates him for being gay. Not that he has other, very valid reasons for disliking him.
I felt bad for the folks sitting at the table next to us. Their conversation died around the time my uncle started banging on the table going THEY ONLY LET IMMEDIATE FAMILY VISIT YOU IN FEDERAL PRISON! AT LEAST I'M NOT A RAPIST!
Which is better than someone yelling "I AM A RAPIST!" but I don't think by very much.
So. My folks will be home tomorrow. And despite the fact that Crazy Uncle asked me...four? Five? times not to tell my mother anything that he said, I'm going to give her the summary and let her deal with it. Because he was pretty firm on the two week deadline, and very clear about how he thinks his life is pathetic (it kind of is), and he doesn't want to live like this anymore.
But if he had a used car, EVERYTHING WOULD BE MAGICALLY BETTER.
Because he is crazy in the head. So. We'll see what happens in two weeks! I am off to Panera to eat a bagel and see what happens when I try to write. Um. Hopefully Uncle doesn't kill himself/burn the house down/drink all the booze/lose any of the dogs while I'm gone!
(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-15 05:33 pm (UTC)*hugs back*