My apartment feels like I'm sitting in a giant gym sock.Thankfully, it doesn't smell like one.
So the RNC has started. I've been told to come to work, come hell or high water. My hubby was told to work from home all week.Personally, I'm glad to be out of the house. I woke up this morning, showered and got dressed. As I headed out to the living room to kiss my hubby goodbye, a creeping fog of heat and humidity consummed my just showered body. I think coating of sweat formed by the time I reached our living room.
pg: Not for nothing, babe, but the air is so thick in here, I can cut it.
hubby: What?
pg: I said it's hot in here.
hubby: Really?
pg: Have you been so consumed with work, you do not realize the dogs are jumping into the bathtub and turning on the shower?
hubby: I'm fine.
pg: At least turn on a fan for heaven's sake.
As I walked to the bus, I contemplated my choice of attire: slacks and a thin cotton sweater.I would have been better off with a spaghetti strap dress and a cardigan. But alas, I feel that spaghetti straps don't work in a workplace unless under a blazer and I wasn't about to be wearing a suit to work the next few days.Dinner with my mom was nice. Hubby feared it would be hotter than Africa but it turned out pleasantly breezy, unlike our tropical apartment.
Mom made enough scarves and hats that she made me bring some home for gifts. Seriously, who gives handknit scarves out as gifts? Grandmoms and that's it. But of course I couldn't say no. She gets upset so easily. And with the depression, I feel I need to let her know I like the activities that keep her active.So now I have 7 scarves and hats in my closet.They are nice scarves but I can't gift wrap a scarf and hat and give it to a friend/co-worker. Here. Happy Birthday. It's a scarf from my mom.
I didn't realize or maybe refused to realize the extent to which this accident has effected my mother, physically and mentally.On the counter of her kitchen is a pharmacutical supply of meds which she must take daily. I know this is probably very insensitive but I think alot of it is mental. She won't admit it but my father allowed my mother luxuries that no other man would. She was spoiled as a child, she was spoiled as a wife and now with her new husband, she's spoiled. But it's a different kind of spoiled. My father spoiled her with trips, material possessions and the freedom to come and go as she pleased. With her new husband, she doesn't have that luxury. Financially, she can't run off on a whim.
For the first time, she really needed to work for a living. Yes, she worked when dad was alive but (and I'm not discrediting the difficulty of the job) it was with my father, by his side.She got this job after dad died. It was tough going for my mom who was used to being her own boss or the boss but she held on and worked like I knew she would. My mother worked like it was her own business. She worked as if her job defined her being.
Then she fell and that started the cycle of denial, depression and self loathing. My mother's fragile self esteem was dealt a blow like no other. No longer did she have the job to define who she was.So here we are nearly 2.5 years and she's on more meds then I can count and going to physical therapy practically daily. It seems like we're no where closer to getting her back to normal.
Now, I'm not going to lie and say that I'm not concerned for myself and my brother. This does raise many questions I thought I wouldn't have to be concerned about just yet. But I'm more worried for her and her new husband. her mental state worries me. When you get boxed in, your head begins thinking and conjuring up things to worry about. Since she's not allowed to work and go out, she's stuck at home watching lifetime and knitting. I'm not doctor, but that seems to me a means to get older much quicker than going out and doing things. Here I am rambling when it all comes down to one big question, "When/Will my mom get better?"
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In the obsession arena:
Parfait.
Made a sugar free parfait for stepdad on Sunday and hubby is hooked.
On Sunday I made 4 for dinner with my mom. When we got home, hubby requested more parfait. Total count: 8.
