Taking a U turn

Mio padre, in in relation to my fall, wants me to go to hospital. Our conversation went something like this:

Aging patriarch: Why don't you go get checked out? I'll pay for it. If you want me to come over--
Translation: I don't think you're expendable.

Furious daughter: Come over? O please! You have Louise, and I have to get up to go to the store, and unlike you and Marie, I am making plans to go away, or to a home, because I am a realist while the two of you do nothing and sit there and suffer!
Translation: You don't love me and never did.

My father's sister is literally dying, and even allowing for the fact that no model can control everything, her suffering is driving me berserk. I'd email my cousins, or IM Richie at Linked In, but I know it is not my place to overstep my role as (overbearing) niece. Padre does not intervene, and I'm mad at everyone, familial and otherwise.

I am on the verge of giving my notice, with no plan, straining at the bit, even knowing that access to toiletry would be essential, and a problem, although I have a portable bedpan. It is all I can do not to lunge at Trudy and assault her tomorrow, and yes, this is beyond the bounds of decency, though I'd run out of usage attempting to detail the games these employees are directed to play, how many times I've complied and they simply do absolutely nothing. A Poets & Writers author wrote a book about an underclass woman who was gang raped and died of alcohol poisoning in the projects. I found the novel in Paley Library while I still lived near Temple. I forget the guy's name, I forget the title, but he wasn't writing fiction; he was writing about a police state which deliberately denigrates and defeats people who don't know what to do to stop it. Unlike the female character, and I'm not sure she was the lead, I never used fucking as an act to get what I craved, never tried to climb on my once well endowed cunt, though I did try very hard in my thirties and forties to get a protector. This is why I could not swallow my physical revulsion toward my ex; he was a misogynist bawling baby who wants to be pampered, and has no idea how to walk with me. Some men do have that idea. Married men, but I only ever made a direct effort to steal one. Tall order with the flimsiness of cyber dating in the early explosion of web growth.

I know giving my notice will kill my father and I know everyone who would want to console me would say this is how landlords are. I can't take it anymore. I don't drink, I don't whore myself, I gave up tobacco, and because niggers love to bitch slap as a method of matriculation, I'll be persecuted to my grave. I can't do it anymore.