It's hard to say how many hours I'll have alone. I was getting home from work at about 4:45pm on Fridays; then with overtime it was more like 6:45 or 7pm. She works three 12 hour shifts - I was against this choice - and now with her rehab appointments she's finding it hard to fit all her paperwork into a Friday leaving at 6 or 6:30 or even 7. One night recently I made dinner, with her son here, him having just arrived from out of town, she calls at 6, I call her at 6:30, 7:15, 8, she calls at 9. Each time she says she'll be another 1/2 hour. Mind you, she's already said that she might work the next day, Saturday, while I already have to work, so the paperwork for her admits could wait until the next day but no, nooooooo, she's gotta do it then. Really, it's not the idea that she's not here; if I know I'll have some time to myself I'll enjoy it: tonight I'm listening to The Beatles 30th Anniversary version of The White Album, alot of fun for a lost 60's child like me. I also vacuum the house using a handheld to blow the cat hair out of the corners, then pick it up with the push vac, something she'll never do.
No, it's the idea that she's not gonna let me plan my time, that even if she's not here it's gotta be ALL ABOUT HER. Tonight I've been home since 4:45pm and I talked with her as I drove into town (I live about an hour north of Denver); she hasn't called since. I think it's sad that I'm doing the grownup version of Cruise in Risky Business, digging her not being here.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment