And no, I don't mean far too under the influence. Shut up.
It's been a topsy-turvy day. I enjoyed a morning of solitude. And by "enjoyed", I mean that I watched my TV shows while waiting to hear either the door open or the walker creak. I guess that I'm still overly attentive to the sound that my Momma might need me. Yes, yes, I overworry; that's been established.
I cooked today. That's rare. I made a vegetarian pot pie and some baked potatoes. Not exactly Top Chef, but as we know, I am not a gourmand.
Momma's physical therapist came over today and dropped a new bomb. Context: I decided earlier that Momma could handle more tasks on her own, like plugging in her own cell when it needs charging and getting her own cans of Diet Coke. The new bomb? Apparently Momma is walking too much and shouldn't work so hard.
Every single positive step has just gone to shit. Momma listens closely to what her doctors and therapists say, and does not trust her instincts.
My life just got delayed by at least another 6 weeks.
This angers me beyond belief, and also just makes me want to leave. Choose your own interpretation of "leave", if only because I haven't decided yet.
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