Stick a Fork in Me

I don’t think my Zoloft is working. Does anyone know whether it’s the kind of drug to which one builds up a tolerance? Granted, there are days when I forget to take it, but more than not, I’m pretty regular with it.

Erica tells me that it’s not supposed to cut off all emotions. And if that’s true, what exactly is the point?

Of course, it’s been a trying few weeks for me. The whole family found the blog (Hi everyone!) and the word from my sister is that I have been anointed with the end-all, be-all punishment of Southerners.

Susan. They all read it. And they are done with you.

My family has always had their ways of being done with someone — none of which involves direct confrontation (except the year I ruined Christmas — I’ll tell you that one later).

Perhaps the most infamous of the line of the “Done With” in our family was my great Uncle Elzie. As a young boy, Elzie decided to run off to California in search of his dream to be a movie star. Family rumor has it that he actually made it into a couple of films, though I couldn’t find him on IMDB. I am, however, pretty sure that this rumor is the only reason the family kept talking about him during holidays after he was done with.

You know, we’ve got kin who was in the movies

That and as a warning to the youngsters to not betray the family lest you become done with as well.

Uncle Elzie’s most vicious crime was that after he left for California he reportedly never returned. Not for Christmas, Easter, Homecoming at the Baptist Church. Nothing. He deserted his Mama and Fitzgerald completely. All because that selfish bastard wanted a life of his own. The only acceptable way you can move away from home in my family is if you return for visits as often as humanly possible. (Because it’s always so pleasant when we all get together.) And, more importantly, you should never succeed too much, lest you become uppity or think you’re better than everyone else.

Now. My take on Uncle Elzie is this: I don’t know him, or his Mama, so I’m not sure what the deal is there. Maybe she sucked. Or, maybe they loved each other and they talked on the phone twice a day and enjoyed their wonderful long-distance relationship. What I do know is that Elzie had a loving wife who visited us once with photos and stories and did her best to get Elzie back into the fold. The family was super nice and sat through the stories and photos and as soon as she left the conversation went straight to how Elzie betrayed everyone.

I secretly envied Uncle Elzie. His story seemed so exotic and exciting. And for me, in a world where the only options I knew I had were to either teach, type or raise babies, Uncle Elzie gave me hope.

Uncle Elzie, if you’re out there, know that even though I never met you, I loved you. Thanks for the inspiration.

I made it.

0 thoughts on “Stick a Fork in Me

  1. Um, congratulations?? They were bound to read it eventually. I think I’d rather be done with than have every family member tell me what a jerk they think I am.

  2. Are you high, Claree?? Once again you have your facts all wrong. I never used the word “done.” And I would LOVE direct confrontation. Are you up to it? Or are you satisfied with this one-way, no way but your way, destroy my family, my hometown and especially my mother manner of doing things? I do hope your friends are intelligent enough to know there are two sides to every story and your side is way off base.

    And for the record, Uncle Elzie’s wife NEVER came for a visit. I never met her and neither did you. I do think she was probably a “loving wife” but as far as visiting us once with photos and stories and doing her best to get Elzie back into the fold, that is ridiculous! “The family sat through the stories and photos and as soon as she left the conversation went straight to how Elzie betrayed everyone.” Where does this weird stuff come from? Furthermore, his Mama was a wonderful woman who loved him with all her heart and she died without ever knowing what happened to him. But I can certainly see why you envy him. He’s exotic and exciting just like you. (Or I guess he would be if he hadn’t croaked years ago.) And I’m happy you loved him and that you were so inspired by him. Maybe that explains your treatment of me. I’ve never done anything but love you. I always will. Love, Mama

    Now I’m done.

  3. Pingback: I work at pleasin’ me cause I can’t please you … | Southern Discomforts

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