Wednesday, November 13, 2019

    I had trouble falling asleep last night because my glutes hurt so much.  Once I solved that pain, I had a good night’s sleep. When I got up in the morning, I saw that the bathmat was in a different place. When I had gone to bed, it was near the shower lying lengthwise in the room.  In the morning,  it was lying widthwise by the counter/sink area. My shorts and shoes, which I had dropped on the floor the night before, were now lying on top of the bathmat.  I assumed Mike’s at it again.  Not quite sure why.  I haven’t had any dreams of his leaving me for another woman like I did the last time he rearranged the bathroom.  It could be because he’s upset I had to deal with car problems, library problems, and guest problems. Or it could just be that he doesn’t like the way I’ve been eating.  

    Yesterday when Yvette was driving Josh and me home from the garage, I said, “I can deal easily with the death of my husband and the car, but if anyone looks at me cross-eyed, I’m toast.”  The joke is I sweat the small stuff. Pathetic, huh?                                                                                                                 

    The truth is, I was a little flummoxed by the car situation yesterday.  I immediately started thinking of leasing or buying another car.  I forgot I still owned Mike’s. While Josh and Adam have been using it, it is still mine.  We have to see how we’re going to work this out.

    Around 9:30, the young woman who was staying with me came out of the bedroom. She had been meditating and had a phone call with her ‘girls’ from Switzerland.     She set herself up in the backyard, and I sat on the lanai, speaking to my therapist. I worked on an old anger toward my parents. Neither one was the best at respecting our boundaries. Both my parents were born in 1903 in Germany.  I think the idea of parents respecting children was an alien concept. Parental rights were quite different in those days.

    My mother’s best friend in Germany was a Jewish woman, Lotte Levy. My parents made every effort to secure an affidavit and a visa for her so she could come to America and leave Nazi  Germany.  Lotte’s mother refused to give her money for the fare because she believed her daughter’s job was to take care of her mother for the rest of her life.  Lotte did not tell my parents about her situation until after her visa had expired. My parents were distraught.  They would have found the money for her one way or another, but now, without the visa, it was pointless. Lotte and her mother died in some concentration camp.

    Since my hip was bothering me again, I spent most of the day on the couch, reading, writing, and napping.  Every once in a while, I would get up and make some effort to clean something.  I still had to put things away after the tenting. As I went through things, I sorted what I could get rid of and not put back in closets and drawers.  I made several piles in the living room: Habitat for Humanity, the Food Bank, the Friendly Place, and Memory Lane.  I also went through Mike’s polo shirts. Jean wants some for John, who, like Mike and me, wears his clothes until they fall off his back.  Well, not that bad. I lay the shirts out on the bed and took a picture of them. Then I sent the photo to Jean by text for her to make her selection.

    I watched most of season nine of Doc Martin. I am enjoying them more than I used to.

    At the end of the day, my glute and leg were suddenly back to normal, no problems, as if I never had any in the first place.  I took Elsa for one of her regular walks and went to bed.