So, I wake up this morning and no sooner do I have my coffee in one hand and pills in the other when Miss Cathy announces that “she” needs to drive by the VFW because she’s thinking she’d like to participate in one of their parking lot “yard sales”. My first thought is how much work this is going to be for me and her use of the first person singular does not go unnoticed.

I give her the pills, listen for a minute then continue with my morning ritual of watering the plants and sitting out here on the balcony to write to you. When I go inside to freshen up my coffee she tells me that she needs to get the roasting pan out from under the sink so she can cook the meatloaf she’d been putting together.

This time I couldn’t let the I slide by without saying something. “What you mean is that you’d like for me to get the pan for you,” I said, “ Oh, isn’t that what I said?” she replied.

“No, you actually do that a lot, you say “I” instead of asking me to do something for you.”

“Al-righty then I will. Can you get the roasting pan out for me please.”

I know, part of me feel like an asshole for clocking her about semantics but come on, it gets to you after awhile……..someone constantly talking about “me” and “I” when you know that “you” are going to be the one to “do” and “get”. I don’t know if it’s the illusion of independence or the unintended omission of my existence by the statements that bother me more.

Of course it makes sense that this is happening now. It’s all this at a time when she’s doing great, I mean the doctors all think so and I can see that she sharper than a month ago. So, I guess it stands to reason that the more she’s like her old self the more she’s going to want to do and be like her old self except I am the one who’s now her arms and legs.

I think what I mind is that she seems to want to “have her cake and eat it, too”. She wants to toddle around like an old lady, not do much in the way of exercise or walking to strengthen her muscles so she can do more for herself, but, at the same time her mind is clearer so she has no problems coming up with things she’d like to do but not much thought (seemingly) into the fact that I’m the one that has to do all this stuff.

I really don’t know why I’m bitching or surprised by any of this-what did I expect? I knew she wasn’t going to be bedridden? I knew (or thought) I knew how demanding and difficult she was/is? I guess I just need to keep writing to you to vent because that’s all it is.

At the end of the day I’m going to get the pot, look for the “thing”, wait for her to do “whatever” and carry/lift/open the things that she needs-I just gotta remember to have a better attitude about it!

Update: As I sit here writing I smelled something burning, I get inside and Miss Cathy tells me that she just burned some bacon she had cooking on the stove………..and the beat goes on.