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TL Boehm - Writer

Written in my heart



She Who Inhabits The Throne Room

Posted by Tammy L Boehm on November 13, 2017 at 9:50 AM

I'm sure you've seen it. Those lovely autumnal themed, sun-dappled shots of well-coiffed, pantsuited boomers, toned arms lovingly draped over a diminutive, smiling senior engaging in some banality all set to ambient music? Cut to some denizen of sitcoms past - also well-coiffed, regurgitating some misty-eyed vignette about "doing the right thing, when we noticed grandpa couldn't recite Pi to the 25th decimal anymore."


Right. The truth is more like this:


6:01 and shame on me for not bolting upright immediately upon the 6:00 buzzer because "click" there went the door of the only throne room in the castle. I've only been working daily since April of 2016, right? Why would I need to visit the throne room prior to my daily ablution - which I already engage in in the dungeon to free up said precious space in the only throne room.?


6:10 - the queen shuffles out - fully dressed and mumbling upon seeing me that I can have it now whatever it is - perhaps there is a present in the throne room?


6:11 - the queen is firmly planted in the small space where the exit of the castle, the great cookstove and entrance to the dungeon all conjoin and I - now requiring NO coffee cannot refrain from asking about the assorted oddities spread in front of the queen (whom I must VAULT to access the place of ablution in the dungeon) -ponder an empty toothpaste box, wadded tissue, a piece of floss, pills, pencils and torn scraps of paper bearing glyphs...


ME: "you're up early...again."


Queen: "well I have to make my list and my **** itches..." (insert gesticulations here)


Me - "so what are you doing today that makes you get up at six"


Queen "Well my dentist needs to know and then I have to get your husband to get all my pills down"


Me: "Your dentist does not need to know that your **** itches - and what time is your appointment?"


Queen: "11:30 (the rest of the sentence edited to fit the allotment of time at hand)


Me: "That is five hours from now. What time do I need to get up in the morning? if you are going to get up at six I don't want to be out here when you are in the way."


Queen: "Oh, you aren't in my way I just go sit in the living room."


6:36 - I'm in the car, babbling to God and crying off the eyeliner, again because in the battle of dementia versus "oh LORD I just want to be able to get up and get ready for work unbarraged" I have again failed....miserably. The husband will incur fallout. I'll text him when I get to my desk.


It's lunchtime now and my simple need of "45 minutes of uninterrupted time to get ready for work" has resulted in chagrin for said husband who was informed of our polite predawn convo - the Queen and I and of course I want to disown her oh and BTW - husband who shuttled the queen to her dental appointment was told said appointment was at 11. Queen told me 11:30. And this is a normal day....But it's not the Queen. It's the disease. And that is the most difficult thing to comprehend - especially on Monday morning when I am late for work because the Queen spent ten minutes in the throne room procuring floss and empty toothpaste boxes in preparation for a dental visit as is her right as Queen. There is no logic. And some days I struggle with that more than others.



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