Cats are not helpful when it comes to untangling yarn. They might think they are helpful, but frankly, they are not.
I have a bruise on my right foot from trying to help start a chainsaw. These are sore.
My dad’s surgical oncologist said today that the chemo helped more than they could have hoped and thinks another round of chemo (starting April 8th) and some radiation will knock the tumor out. After that is a complicated surgery to repair the hole in his mouth/throat/tumor area. This is good news, but nobody asked what it would do to me. I suppose I really don’t matter in all of this, when you look at the bigger picture, though.
My mother still refuses to let go of toes that won’t heal. Eventually they will get infected again and take more of the toe than is involved now. Its not necessary that she have the parts of toes removed, so what I say really doesn’t matter. I think she’ll regret it, her foot will hurt, she will not move around, and the circulation in her right leg will become as poor as it was in the left leading to another bypass or amputation. I might make a different call the second time around. But when you look at the bigger picture, what I think really doesn’t matter, does it?
I’m beginning to think I was put on this earth just to care for my parents. Eventually, I’ll have a heart attack from the stress of it all, and they’ll be left to fend for themselves. So why not have a big blow out now? Make sure I get my celebration in?
Oh, because I can’t. I have parents to take of, and a son to watch after. A life of my own selfish construction is not in the cards.
I know why all of this is coming out now, while I gnaw on raw sunflower seeds (they’re healthy, you know) and drink filtered water (better than tap water with all its chemicals). I took a wrong turn. Instead of turning to go knit at the knitting store with the Thursday night crowd of middle aged ladies, I went home. I swept the sides of the pool and poured in probably too much algaecide. I got on Facebook and saw that someone locally that I know was looking for local dinner company. I went. I drank wine and had conversation. I pet a friendly dog without sneezing. I enjoyed my time with him and wished it could have lasted longer. I felt robbed that my life hasn’t had this for five years. Five fucking years! I’m surprised I didn’t follow him home, just like his dog. I would have if I didn’t have concern over having an 18-year-old to answer to. Yes, I answer to people because I am twelve, or at least I feel like that’s what I’m supposed to be.
[Deep breath]. Ok. I should feel better now. Instead I feel like stomping around. Because I am twelve. Stomp stomp stomp. Maybe I can go outside and stomp.