Kluging

Over the course of this child custody drama, my son's FIL has been triggering some pretty mean flashbacks to the 3 year older sister I have dubbed, "Pimp Sis." Yesterday's antics brought the two mental images so close together in my mind that they have begun to merge into a macabre kluge. I havenae seen or spoken to her in over 20 years. The mental image I have of her is of a 40 something anorexic, alcoholic barbie doll. The merging of that image with the short, waddling, over-medicated old man is macabre, indeed. The mind is a mysterious place.

The flashbacks started in 2012 when I first met my son's FIL-to-be as I listened to my first exposure to his housing project lawyering, arrogant self excusing and eternal demands to be rescued from his own incompetance. My lack of planning is your emergency, folks. The Good Lord, herself, has declared it so. Drop everything and rescue me from me. I am entitled! ! ! The flashbacks grew intense with the first visit after the GKs were taken into protective custody in their care in October, 2018 when the man *jokingly* demanded payment for the visitation rights. Hello Pimp Sis. Your business dealings arenae welcome in my mind in your morbidly obese guise, either, and I amnae even close to wanting my grandchildren exposed those business practices.

Plying therapy tools. . . Am I speaking to my son's FIL or the teenage barbie dolls stuffing a bra on a 12 year old with kleenex to make her more marketable?

Grounding. . . Breathing. . .

I didnae sleep well last night. Well enough to feel safe making the 6 hour round-trip drive to compensate for the other grandfather's incompetance, butnae well enough to feel assured I can stay in the here and now when I see the excusey old fart. I amnae anywhere near grounded enough to listen to an ailment recital or his new and improved wish list. As with Pimp Sis, that wish list is forever new and improved. *I* live to be served. It is *your* priveledge to serve me. Be sure you bring the National Budget and an International Relief Corps or three in your tool belt.

My goal here in this venting phase of plying therapy tools is to find a balance which will allow me to go placidly amid the noise and the haste. The GKs will be witness to the exchange and I certainly donae care to put them through anything like what my own children and Pimp Sis's children witnessed 30 odd years ago when I last extracated her arrogant leechery from my life. That is a traumatic flashback series for me. I suspect it is for the now middle aged children, as well. It was a gory series of unfortunate events. The 3 young children in the here and now are still fragile from the custody shuffles and deaths of their parents. A grown-up tit-for-tat skirmish is on my gamdar (Gammy's radar) as a must avoid proposition. Ditto for caretaker psychopations. Praying for the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to see the difference.

I still have another 3 hours before scheduled take off. Think I'll ply some guit-chi.

Prayers and support both needed and appreciated.