So, here’s where we’re at

It is March 31 2016.  Both cataracts are done. I have a newly remodeled bedroom and bathroom. A new entertainment unit all thanks to Mary and Dan. The front yard is all rock.  A yard service is taking care of weeds and grass. Speaking of grass, Scott has turned me on to the local medical marijuana facilities.

Alliances in the family are changing. Joe is acting estranged, Ken is a warm and supportive person; Tom is his usual cerebral self. Barb is so warm and loving, Theresa is spooky. Pat is up on the mountain with Tina and (I suspect) quite content. Annie is very supportive but can have a bit of an edge. Joan and Kathy are shallow and tied up with their own families. So, this is what I came “home” to. It’s hard to recall having been in Long Beach. I remember light, sounds, distances for stores; but it seemed to be a problem to connect with people. People were my “tribe” but I saw them that way; they didn’t see me the same. The water passes over the sand, and the footsteps disappear.

So, what to do? I’m well enough to start exercising regularly. I want to return to AA. I would like to resume some volunteering that would allow for my Parkinson’s. That may be tricky. I start shaking pretty easily when I’m under stress of any kind.

I have a huge house to live in. I really really don’t want to share it. I suppose I could keep the beds made and the bathrooms stocked with fresh towels. I should at least be ready for guests; is that the way to do it?

When it comes down to it, at this point of being healed of my physical ailments (so to speak), I’m depressed. I’ve gotten used to being sick .I’ve enjoyed the role of victim who struggles to be well. People who fawn over me. Now, I’m really on my own. There’s only so much to buy. Blanche needs nothing from me. Everyone in the family has someone. (Here comes a self-pity rant!); all I have is a cat who hides under the covers. Janice is dead; whatever happened to Tom Crowe?

Something is seriously wrong with this picture. If it weren’t for Scott, I’d have no one. A 66 year old male very much alone in the world save for family. That’s not how I planned it. But, life isn’t what we plan; it’s what is.Dig in, run your fingers through the mud and sand, marvel at the colors and texture. What can be made of this?

 

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