Some days I feel like a hamster on a wheel, running madly and getting nowhere.
Or more likely, a hamster clinging helplessly to the outside of the wheel, at it whirls madly out of control. I’ve had a regular parade in my head, led by the Doubt Yourself Revival. The Beat Yourself Up rhythm section has been rockin’, playing in a You’re Running Outta Time beat. Sigh. Nobody can run me through the wringer like I can. Guilt is something my brother says I shouldn’t feel, but there’s no escaping it. I don’t see the last fourteen months as ‘I gave it my best’-rather that I gave out before the finish line. I hate not to finish something I’ve started. I have what may be my final appointment with the plastic surgeon. Everything seems to be healing well. There’s still a bit of swelling, but I think the results are pretty good. It may be time to get a fitting, and find out what size I’ve become. I’ve gone well over six months without wearing a bra, and sister, I’m not so sure I ever want to wear one again. In this case, letting myself go is a good thing.
I’m going to have to call the supervisor for the caregivers this morning and cancel the visit for today. I made this appointment thinking Kevin would be off, but he is overseeing the laying of new carpets at the hotels. My appointment is for before the aide is due to come-I will have to leave around eleven am to get there in time. Kevin is going to try to get the carpet layers started and go along, but we’ll see. At the very least I will have Mom and the dogs along for the trip. It’s a busy week for appointments, Mom sees the oral surgeon on Wednesday, and I finally get to see my pain specialist on Thursday. By the end of next week, Mom should have her new teeth. Her cataract surgery isn’t until May. She continues to go back to her room and sleep whenever there’s nothing going on. Which is most of the time, we’re pretty boring people. The last few days, we’ve had a preview of premium stations on tv, so I’ve been trying to catch some movies that I haven’t seen. There’s not much appeal in that for Mom, since she can’t see. I spend a lot of time, every day, pondering the problem of finding appropriate activities for Mom-going over the pros and cons endlessly, and winding up doing nothing at all. The sheer weight of her need is sometimes suffocating. I stand in the midst of that tempest, just wishing it would stop. Mom is showing classic signs of depression-with lack of appetite, wanting to sleep all the time, and little interest in doing things. I’ve been trying to spend more time with her, especially around meals. I want so much to talk this move over with her, but she will hear none of it.
I just went out to get my second cup of coffee, and half the pot is gone. Mom has taken to pouring her coffee over the sink. It saves us from having to clean up the flood on the counters and floor, and usually I would just shrug this off. But this is our last pot of coffee until tonight, when the shopping gets done. She can’t have had more than one cup, which means the rest has gone down the sink. So, the remainder I now have in here, with me. I’ll go out and giver her periodic refills, but rationing has now gone into effect. You just don’t mess with my java supply. I’m sure I will hear the complaints about how they, the mysterious yet ubiquitous they, should know better than to run out of something so essential. In truth, they just didn’t feel like going in to the store, and we’re not going to fire them for that. As hard as it is, I’m going to have to stop dragging my feet on moving Mom. The pressure that my husband is enduring has developed a short fuse, and he needs someplace to find peace. Home should be that place.
It has always been our habit to create a space of peace and calm with our home. You need a place to escape from the everyday madness. A hidden pocket of reflective beauty in the chaos, protecting you from the storms of life. A place to restore your balance and regenerate enough to fight another day. This week we are going to have a lot of sunshine, promising the advent of spring. By the fourth day, the yard just might be dried out enough to mow. It will certainly need it by then. Four days of sunshine seem to produce four times the growth of grass, which already threatens to cover branches waiting to snap a mower blade. The presence of storm debris berates me to clean it up, even though the threat of more storms still exists. Spring, that tumultuous siren. There are buds and early blooms, and the verdant green belies the dry conditions of the summer before. Jonquils and crocus are making their appearance in the garden, and the tree that I began sculpting into a topiary piece beckons once again. It will be of great help to me to be able to get outside again, as I’m sure the doggies would agree. As much as I love what the mists and rain bring us, I look forward to seeing blue skies again. The sun may burn the gloominess from this house, shedding light on solutions instead of problems. At least, that is my hope.