dreadedcandiru2 (dreadedcandiru2) wrote in binky_betsy,
dreadedcandiru2
dreadedcandiru2
binky_betsy

Elizabeth's letter, March 2009


Hello again from me; as I write this, it's a typical late winter day in Vancouver. How odd it is that while I'm dealing with rainy days and temperatures that they used to call the mid-forties, the people back East are dealing with shoveling snow and taking a header on icy sidewalks. Worrying about that only seems to add to Mike's problems. Not only does he feel guilty about how his bad back keeps him from pulling his weight, Mom's insanity has started to take a sinister turn; she's started to mistreat Edgar. April has probably already told you about her trying to starve the poor little gut to death and Dad's amused response so I won't belabor the point. Let's just say that they've crossed a line that Mike has difficult accepting. I know this because during April's call, I could hear him in the background telling Mrs Poirier, who's taken Edgar in, that he feared becoming as big a burden to Robin and Meredith as his parents are. This tells me that there's going to come a time when he'll have to make a choice between wearing himself out trying to fix the unfixable or walikng away and letting them eat each other like rats in a cage.

Speaking of unpleasantness, I'd promised I'd talk about Anthony's new job. What he does for a living is to find ways to dash people's hopes and dreams in order to preserve his company's precious bottom-line. Since he doesn't ask questions and has a hard time sympathizing with other people, he'll go far. I don't know how long I'll be travelling along with him but at least if things don't work out, I won't be the one paying alimony and child support. The interesting thing is that he reports to that tax lawyer Mom had a crush on. You'll never guess what his name is: Frank Day. Not only that but the fiancée he refused to dump despite Mom thinking that her daydreams were the will of God is his wife of thirty-five years, Helen Day-Knight. This not only explains why Mom hates motorcycles and (since both of them had dark hair) brunettes, it also tells me why she uses the word "sleep" as a measurement of time. I'd always wondered why she did that because nobody else I've met does.

As for the son (I didn't find the amnio results until Valentine's because Anthony filed them under "I" for "I'd rather it be a surprise" despite my hope it'd be under "W" for "What color do we paint the nursery?") that's coming this may, we're finally starting to pick names. I plan on naming him after Jim while he's got it in his head to name him after his great-granddad Allen, who'd invented boredom. I wish he'd invented being a man about things; that's because Anthony isn't handling Francoise's month with Therese well. He, you see, is afraid of much the same things Mom was and is worried sick that she'll come home wanting emotional support and intellectual stimulation that he cannot provide. As I hinted before, if she and her partner want to upset the applecart, don't expect me to stand by my man. I may not be the best person to be there for her but I think I'll do until a real nurturer gets here.

Anyway, that's enough for now. I'll tell you how things are going next month. Until then,

Yours,
Liz.

P.S. I just got off the phone with April; she was asking where to forward Francoise's birthday card because she turns four this Saturday. I'm ashamed to say that it took me a minute to remember; it wasn't for wanting to forget, if that's what you're thinking. At least not on my part, anyway. I have to keep in mind that he's playing off against each other to have what Costanza calls "hand."
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