I hate when it’s colder in my house than it is outside.
So many things I need to do, so many things I want to do…and that’s just talking about the house! Well it’s Monday, which is the start of my work week, he he…laundry, gardening, cooking, figuring out how to fix this giant cancer mess. I haven’t been sleeping well, trying to determine how my Dad’s treatment is going to go. I’m also on the fence about my own condition, not feeling absolutely confident in my oncologist or my current trial (said as I rub the painful spot around T4, wondering if the tumor’s growing back, now that I’m on a lower dose of study drugs).
Things could go bad so quickly, it amazes me that I squander my relatively good health on what — cooking, cleaning, reframing prints from the 1950’s? What? I know. But then, the really, really important thing at this point is maybe not so much traveling and gaining new experiences that way, but making the toughest adventure of all, which is to take care of my parents and maybe get to know them a bit better. Right. A weird thing to say. Better drink more coffee.
I’ve always had a tenuous relationship with the ‘rents. It’s improved immensely since I matured and proved I could take care of myself. I was always the underdog though, being the middle child. We always get the short end of the stick. Older sister spent trust fund to have a child (their only grandchild, so that was an eminently good investment, in retrospect), younger brother spent trust fund going to Cal Berkeley before his genius spiraled into madness (as so often happens to geniuses in Berkeley, or so it seems). Me, I went to the local state college before defecting, using a backpacking trip on the John Muir trail as the catalyst. That’s right. I was hanging out with the Commies at the time (yes, you know who you are). Anyway, after that I’d disappear for periods of time to places like Utah or Wyoming, which turned out to be less worrisome than being in school and engaging in demonstrations that landed my roommates in jail and made the parents wonder if I was about to be steamrolled while holding my ground in front of a nuclear power plant. No, they never really wondered about my adventures in those far off places. They were on their own rollercoaster of life, and for the most part I think they were content. They couldn’t boast about their kids being doctors, lawyers, or anything really cool, which must be a disappointment, but then, at least we were ok.
I didn’t get the seal of approval until I married the Hubby. Bringing him home was probably my crowning achievement. I think they like him infinitely more than me. Actually, they love him to death, so there’s that. They want us to move closer because they’d like to know him so much better. He just keeps surprising them with all sorts of wisdom. He’s not an intellectual, but he has an uncommonly original mind which is mainstream at the same time. Yep, I married Daniel Boone, or maybe Johnny Appleseed. Suffice to say, I can give advice till I’m blue in the face, but it’s all just opinion unless Hubster suggests it. Then it’s golden. Sniff.
Now that I’ve dumped my innards, it’s time to be frivolous and eat Indian food with the sister (she works in town once a week). I may continue divulging stream of consciousness later, while I cook corned beef and cabbage and do housewifey things. Escapist activities of the most mundane quality, but I just need some order in my life. And vegetables.