I woke up this morning with a smile in my heart. I had slept on the couch rather than the bed for the first time in three months (get used to reading ‘in three months’ because I’m probably going to be typing that several times) and I woke up without a pain in my back for the first time in that timeframe. I only slept in the bed because I knew my parents would bitch if I slept on the couch and I didn’t want to deal with it.
Many things I did while they were here was with the calculated cost of cutting the bitching and moaning down to as minimal as possible. One thing I want to change back is Shadow’s litter boxes. I had four for him. One upstairs in the computer room (that I no longer used, the computer room, I mean) and three downstairs. My brother unilaterally decided that one box was enough and got rid of three of them, including the one upstairs. To be fair to him, Shadow wasn’t always hitting the box upstairs and apparently getting pee on the wood. It’s fuzzy right now. Anyway, he was really unhappy with just one box and with it being downstairs and he showed his displeasure by pooping outside the box, often in the hallway next to the computer room door.
My mom freaked out about it, but I couldn’t blame him. He’s an old cat (fifteen) and had had a box in that room for years. Suddenly, it disappears along with three other boxes? Yeah, I’d be upset, too. So I’m going to put a box back in that room with puppy pads under it. My brother bought the puppy pads for me at the recommendation of the nurses in case I had an accident, which I never did. Yes, I had them in the hospital, but it was because of the drugs and my stubbornness in not asking for help. I didn’t have any issues once I got home.
Honestly, I’m not upset about cleaning up his poop every few days. Shadow’s, I mean. It’s better than urine and throw-up (the latter which I have to clean once a week or so). And, again, he’s an old cat. His poop isn’t that firm all the time. He probably can’t make it to the litterboxes downstairs and/or he doesn’t like that there are less of them. Two, now. But both downstairs.
In addition, I don’t have to take a morning walk if I don’t want to. I did yesterday, but the weather is getting too chilly, even for me. I love the cold, but not being in it for a sustained amount of time. It’s 6 degrees right now, which is pretty cold. I’m debating going out now or later or not at all. I could just walk downstairs, but that’d be walking in many circles. And I like using houses, trees, and signposts as markers for how far I’ve walked. I kind of want to get it over now. I like getting it out of the way early doors.
I just went outside for a walk and only went halfway because it’s very brisk out.
Side note: I like to joke that people with an affinity for cold weather (including me) will never say it’s cold–it’s always ‘brisk’ or ‘crisp’. It’s currently 6 degrees. I like the cold, but not necessarily walking in it when there’s a stiff breeze. When my parents were here, it was easier to finish the whole walk than to say I wanted to end early because that would freak my parents out and make it into a drawn-out scene that I would rather avoid. It couldn’t be I just wasn’t feeling it one day–it would have to be a referendum on my health in general. And to be honest, I hate walking. I used to walk two miles a day as my exercise and I hated every step of it. I would much rather do Taiji or back in the day, dancing.
So now that they’re gone, I can decide whether I am going to continue doing it or not. I can lie to them if need be. I have no problems with that. I can’t remember which online advice columnist said this (probably Danny Loavery when he was Dear Prudie), but they have earned the right to be lied to. And I’m probably badly mangling the quote, but it was of that vibe. Telling them the truth all the time only causes agita and pain. Telling them what they want to hear to shut them up makes my life infinitely easily.
I used to be someone who was all about the truth. But the truth is for people who can handle the truth (wincing as I type that), which my parents can’t. My mother realizes that my father lives in a fantasy world, but she doesn’t acknowledge that she does it herself with her belief that she can make my father better.
So, yes. I told them whatever they wanted to hear to get them the fuck out of here with as little pain as possible. I reminded myself that it was just three days, two days, one day, and then however many hours before they were leaving. I didn’t care if what I was saying was truthful or not; I just wanted to get through the last few days/hours of their visit without incident.
The last two days were the absolute worst. I had such a hard time not snapping at them. I literally had to bite my tongue more than once to keep civil. I had to remind myself over and over again that it was going to be over in however many days/hours.
I have to say, I love my new glasses so much. They’re Betsy Johnson, which means they weren’t cheap, but they make me feel like a million bucks so they’re definitely worth it. I saw them in the shop and was immediately drawn to them. I tried to dismiss it from my mind because they are quirky. Yes, I am quirky, too, but not in that way. They are plastic and cat-eyed shaped. The frame is black with small white polka dots except across the top, which is white with small black polka dots. One arm is white with small black polka dots and the other is black with small white polka dots. There is a small pink heart at the end of each arm. They have progressive lens that are good for near, far, and reading. Plus, the lens darken to gray in the sun.
I tried to forget about the frames because they were so unlike me. I normally just get black frames and either rectangle-shaped or oval-shaped lenses. Granted, the frame was mostly black, but polka dots? I think not. I looked at two dozen other frames, but my eyes kept straying back to the polka dots ones which I kept in my hand. After five more minutes, I conceded defeat and declared the cat-shaped, polka-dotted frames my new favorite thing ever. My insurance wouldn’t cover them, however, so the woman helping me suggested I get two pairs since I could get the Betsy Johnson pair for 40% off. So I got a pair of computer glasses with my traditional oval/rectangle lenses and black top frame (no bottom frame), which I’m wearing now. They are the best for reading.
And I’ve changed my hairstyle. I used to wear it in a topknot all the time. That’s how I wore it in the hospital, which meant my hair was matted and I got an open sore on the back of my head. I don’t think I took a shower while I was in the hospital. At least I don’t remember being washed. A PCA brushed out my hair near the end of my stay, which took an hour, but I was so grateful. After coming home, my nurse’s aide (the one who helped wash my hair) suggested I wear my hair down to help the wound on the back of my head heal. I was resistant because I hated wearing my hair down, but I acquiesced in the end because I wanted to heal the wound.
I ended up dividing my hair in two and twisting each side up into Chun-Li buns, but without the turkey leg cups. That’s how I wear my hair most of the time these days, especially when I go to sleep. So this is now my signature look. My Betsy Johnson glasses and my Chun-Li buns. I love it. I’ll admit it freely. I look like an eccentric older lady, which is exactly what I am. And I love it so much. I’ve never liked the way I look so anything that boosts my self-esteem in that area is a boon.
I’m slowly starting to adjust to my parents being gone. I’m hoping the tension in my shoulders will ease up soon. Other than that, though, I’m feeling good.