I may be wearing out my caregivers.
He has to be out for the day, so he makes sure I have enough stuff from the grocery store. This means he's walked the dog, he's walked me, taken care of some of his his own stuff, probably done laundry and still pops up his head if he hears me in the kitchen at 4:32 am.
"Ann? You okay?"
I made a list.
I don't know if they're toxic but I wanted some of those already-made mashed potatoes.
The front of my list.
It says: (Meat case, near milk.)
(I think they're actually called Simply Potatoes)
(also please note: Lutheran Heath Food ingredients)
The spuds are pretty good-in a pinch. They were probably $2.50 on sale. In a green cardboard sleeve. And the name of the game-because there's the possibility of me encountering my meal more than once-is no crazdiculous flavors.
He came back with this.
No green sleeve. And weird gravy. And I say, this isn't the right stuff
and he says I'll go back and I say no no no.
But I also thought, hmmm. I think he's stopped listening.
So I say-hey where's the cheese?
-It was on the list.
I didn't put it on the list.
Yesterday? Started the day with an unrelated sorta maintenance-type doctors appointment which is not so delightful when you're feeling like crap.(More on this tomorrow) I was watching my reflection walking towards the car in the window of the corner store.
Am I me yet?
Then errands. Just because the cosmos have inserted a horseshoe into your life-doesn't mean that you don't have to pay your t-mobile bill. We did a lap of WalMart with me going: hey hey hey not so fast
which totally blows
in my opinion.
We also saw four. individual. women. cruising WalMart in Hoverounds who they themselves were the size of smart cars. No kidding.
I keep walking.
We get home, I'm poking into the refrigerator.
Look what I found:
There are all sorts of brochures you can pick up at the Cancer Center. And there are all kinds of kinda-like Cancer Places(ya know, like Gilda's Club?). It makes you feel like, yo. Cancer is big business-duh. And double yo. Ya think, should I have done more shopping-in terms of doctors and hospitals and whatnot?
The cancer diagnosis? it was as if someone was yelling: HEY YOUR FOOT IS ON FIRE and my reaction was 100% like: PUT it OUT NOW.
But I don't know, ya know?
Loyola has free art therapy. You can do it with your partner. And it's free.
I'm gonna call them next. Not for me.