I'm in a foul mood to begin with, one that cannot be rescued by any amount of sunshine and holiday weekend barbeque sauce.

So if you want happy, go here, or for those of you who need something stronger/toxic, try this.

"We should go out today," my mother said. "Your father doesn't really want to leave the house anymore, and that worries me."

I'm not so sure I would want to go out if I was always strapped to an oxygen tank, but truth be told, Mom's recent reports of an increase in naps also worries the sheer hell out of me, too. I remember being about 10 the last time I saw my father sleep during the day, and that was part and parcel of a flu that knocked him off of his capable feet for the better part of a week.

But a second phone call reduced today's outing to a Saturday afternoon spent inside. She is tired from a busy Friday made worse by two shoulders that needed surgery - she didn't have - two months ago. It isn't just Dad who doesn't want to leave the house anymore.

I have vowed in the past (incredibly selfish) year to make more of an effort to spend time with my parents, two people who have devoted so much of who they are to me. But recently this has become increasingly difficult, and although I'm embarassed to say it, a more depressing endeavor than I ever imagined it would be in my early 30s. A confusing drive and a full flight of stairs have resulted in them visiting my apartment no more than twice. We seldom eat out at a variety of restaurants like we once did, and when we do, dessert is never on our menus. Netflix provides our entertainment, because our lives require just too much effort. Activities involve warning and seven phone calls and more strategic planning than the junior prom.

Little by little there is less content to our conversations, save the ever-present drama either myself or my sister is creating. We have resigned ourselves to the fact that pretty soon the weekly Safeway and mall outings, those that suck all remaining energy out of both of them, will be replaced by Peapod and UPS deliveries.

And I'm mad as hell at the universe for this. I want so badly for them to have spunk and life and breath so as a family we can enjoy what adulthood has to offer the four of us. It isn't enough for me to have my father view the newborn osprey from his bedroom window; I want him to be able to smell the waterfront, to hear their mother's squawking, to feel the sun on his face. I want my mother to plant flowers and see movies and walk through college towns because she loves how vibrant they are. And although I know I had my chance when I was younger, why can't it be my father who shows me at age 32 the right way to bat for this stupid freaking softball team?

My mother called just now and left a message saying I should bring cards to the house. And I will: Taco Bell and playing cards. And this afternoon I will cut their cat's nails and we'll talk about the day and how breezy it's gotten. And I'm not sure they'll leave home for the rest of the weekend. Or that I'll want to.

My sadness is overwhelming.

And as I'm sure they do, I just wish things were so different.