stepgod

"God told me she had that baby." My mother is religious today. No matter that the doctor had determined the delivery date of my wayward niece's illegitimate progeny some months ago. God had delivered the news to my mother.
My mother is fluctuating between barfly and Baptist neo-con hourly. One moment she's dropping "F" bombs and the next she swears that she can see the signs of the apocalypse all around us. Just as alarming, she has lost a considerable amount of weight over the last few months with no change in her eating habits or incorporation of an exercise routine. She replaces household appliances frequently, citing a litany of defects or most frequently complaining that she "...just can't get them clean." She cleans her house every morning and sits in one chair for the remainder of the day so as to not mess anything up. Dishes may never for one moment linger in the sink. They must be washed, placed in a drainer and then washed again in the dishwasher (the second one she's had in two years). In four years, my parents have mortgaged their house three times to keep up with the replacement and re-replacement of virtually every household item they own. They are bankrupt. On the eve of my stepfather's retirement from 40 plus years with the railroad, he is in financial ruin.
"She's toxic." My new pint-sized shrink with the peculiar eyelids says matter-of-factly. "Sounds like bipolar, borderline personality disorder, OCD and some psychotic episodes thrown in." He's right. On all counts.