I'm very lucky to have a woman--more than a friend-- who does cleaning for me. When she comes to clean, we usually chat for a few minutes, then I vanish into the office to work, and she interrupts me only if she has a question, or when it's time to clean the office. (That's when I get some errands done.) This works well, for me.
It hasn't worked so well for my mother, who's elderly and uses (or used, until recently) the local Community Center's cleaning service. They assigned her Edna.
At first, I heard good things about Edna. She was friendly, mature, competent.
It hasn't worked so well for my mother, who's elderly and uses (or used, until recently) the local Community Center's cleaning service. They assigned her Edna.
At first, I heard good things about Edna. She was friendly, mature, competent.
Recently, I checked back with Mom. She doesn't use the cleaning service anymore.
"Why not?" I asked. "I thought you liked Edna!"
"Edna," she explained grimly, "drove me nuts."
Edna, it appeared, was friendly, all right. And chatty. And gregarious. And impervious to hints or snubs. And downright forgetful of blunt requests to leave Mom alone unless it was a Terribly Important Emergency.
Edna would arrive, and start chatting. And keep chatting. She'd pick up cleaning tools, and follow my Mom around, chatting. Or stand in the doorway of Mom's office or bedroom or wherever she'd taken refuge, chatting. And Mom progressed from annoyance, to feeling hounded, to almost insane, to borderline homicidal, wanting to smack Edna with something large and heavy just to Shut. Her. Up. so Mom could think or pay attention to what she wanted to pay attention to, or just get something done, mustering the concentration she needed to do it.
Granted, this is more difficult for Mom than for many people; she's struggled with ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) and distractability most of her life. It's easy to see why Edna got to her.
Because Edna gets to me, too.
How so, you may ask, when Mom lives in the Midwest, and I'm in the Southwest, a long journey away? How does Edna get there to annoy me?
Another dirty little secret of my disease, another perpetual struggle with my jerkbrain: The days when everyone is Edna.
When even normal social interaction is unbearable. When a pleasant "How did you sleep, darling?" from my adored spouse makes me want to snap "Fine, okay? FINE. Now leave me alone."
When trying to read is purgatory because although I want to read, and drop instantly into the book, with avid enjoyment, the slightest momentary distraction-- a phone ringing, the cat noodging for a meal, a random remark from someone nearby, tossed in my direction, even the ordinary mumble of someone talking to themselves-- hits my consciousness like a cymbal clash, jarring my thoughts out of phase, leaving me feeling bruised and cranky.
Those are the times when you are ALL Edna.
I need to figure out how to deal with this. It's not your problem, it's mine. I need to determine what makes my brain slide into "Ednaphobic" mode, and become hypersensitive to stimulation.
And what to do about it.
"Why not?" I asked. "I thought you liked Edna!"
"Edna," she explained grimly, "drove me nuts."
Edna, it appeared, was friendly, all right. And chatty. And gregarious. And impervious to hints or snubs. And downright forgetful of blunt requests to leave Mom alone unless it was a Terribly Important Emergency.
Edna would arrive, and start chatting. And keep chatting. She'd pick up cleaning tools, and follow my Mom around, chatting. Or stand in the doorway of Mom's office or bedroom or wherever she'd taken refuge, chatting. And Mom progressed from annoyance, to feeling hounded, to almost insane, to borderline homicidal, wanting to smack Edna with something large and heavy just to Shut. Her. Up. so Mom could think or pay attention to what she wanted to pay attention to, or just get something done, mustering the concentration she needed to do it.
Granted, this is more difficult for Mom than for many people; she's struggled with ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) and distractability most of her life. It's easy to see why Edna got to her.
Because Edna gets to me, too.
How so, you may ask, when Mom lives in the Midwest, and I'm in the Southwest, a long journey away? How does Edna get there to annoy me?
Another dirty little secret of my disease, another perpetual struggle with my jerkbrain: The days when everyone is Edna.
When even normal social interaction is unbearable. When a pleasant "How did you sleep, darling?" from my adored spouse makes me want to snap "Fine, okay? FINE. Now leave me alone."
When trying to read is purgatory because although I want to read, and drop instantly into the book, with avid enjoyment, the slightest momentary distraction-- a phone ringing, the cat noodging for a meal, a random remark from someone nearby, tossed in my direction, even the ordinary mumble of someone talking to themselves-- hits my consciousness like a cymbal clash, jarring my thoughts out of phase, leaving me feeling bruised and cranky.
Those are the times when you are ALL Edna.
I need to figure out how to deal with this. It's not your problem, it's mine. I need to determine what makes my brain slide into "Ednaphobic" mode, and become hypersensitive to stimulation.
And what to do about it.