I think of Barbara Pym and her women”cumbered with much serving.” I thought I understood it when I read her and wrote so much on her, including my dissertation and my book, but I never really got it till now. This morning, I got up at 8:15, and by 10, I had done a million things, or so it felt.
First, I had to get on line and check mail, and try to do some work. I had to wash my hair, and get dressed. I did the dishes, at least round 1 of the dishes. I tried to pick up the house, fed and watered our kitties, who had been waiting patiently since at least 6 am, played with them, remembered all my allergy pills, and paid bills. I got the bills in the mailbox.
Today, screw ups with my Dad’s caregivers; changes I didn’t know about, grumpy Daddy, more changes I didn’t know about, no coverage the one night I needed it.
Perhaps tomorrow is indeed another day; the sun is shining and it is cool and crisp; my kind of weather. Think of the start of “Roseanne”, the theme, “That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger . . .”