TISMF a hodge podge

I went to Costco today and they had these [email protected]@[email protected] Rep*bl*c T-shirts on sale for $10 so I picked up a couple and I just tried it on and I like it and I thought I should go get like 10 more all in the same color and have a uniform next summer and look like I’m wearing the same shirt every day. Why do I have these thoughts?

OMG. I just had a shower thought: I should also get a bunch of the same pants- and wear all black except get crazy rainbow colored underpants. And now I want to do this like you can’t believe and it would just 100% tickle me to death to walk around every day with these two little secrets.

Okay. I just realized that instead of buying a whole bunch of new pants for the uniform thing I was thinking I should totally wear this summer I could just take whatever cheap-o pants I’ve been buying myself the past couple of summers and dye them all black. Some might have subtle patterns in them but that would be close enough. I’m gonna do it!! Now I just have to purchase the rainbow underwear.

Another celebratory visit to the wound care center. He is healing well!! The wound care and foot doctor told me I should become a wound care specialist. Hahaha they said “You have a natural curiosity and genuine interest in it.” HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA

Interesting interpretation of what is actually just the result of my terror at the potential of being the cause of THE HUSBAND’S demise. WTF? Was I born feeling guilty for everything or what?

One thing about this current phase of the husband’s decline is that his schedule has become completely unpredictable. For the first few years of his life as a disabled person he regularly slept until 12 or 1 in the afternoon and I knew I had the mornings gloriously all to myself.

These days it’s anyone’s guess. He even gets out of bed in the middle of the night, watches tv and then goes back. Some days he doesn’t get out of bed and some days he is up at the crack of early. And, I freely admit that, all of this annoys the hell out of me. I like routine. I like consistency.

Recall for a moment that prior to his downward spiral I was one of those women who said “You’re not allowed to retire but you can get a part time job that you like better. I can’t have you sitting around the house all day.” (By the way, in case my kids read this one day they should know that their father’s dream job was to be a law school professor teaching philosophy of law. I find this absolutely fascinating for someone who barely spoke to his own children and left the young attorneys at his own firm frozen with fear of asking him a question)

Anyways, these days, when I’m tip toeing around trying not to wake him (so I can be gloriously alone with my own thoughts just the way I like it) and I hear the sound of his walker, half wheel half tennis ball, coming down the hall I am TRIGGERED. I can feel the anger immediately boiling up in me and every one of my muscles tighten and the first thing I think to myself is F**K!!! I DO NOT WANT TO TALK.

This is a problem.

I think much of my reaction to him stems from the 95% chance that he will immediately (without any regard to me being in the middle of already doing something) begin asking me to do things- dumb things like buy him something from the internet or find his eye glasses or some other thing like that. Not, medical care or providing nourishment, but what ever he is too demented or lazy to do himself.