As I was confessing to my dear friend yesterday, I'm having a good day if I can get up and remember to put on pants every morning. And she agreed, confirming, "Pants are hard."
I feel guilty for complaining about life and how hard it is sometimes. I imagine myself re-reading this post many years from now and wisely frowning upon the person I used to be, stroking my long, Gandalf-like beard, and thinking, "Sister, you don't know the half of it." But, for now, pants are hard.
Dad received his MRI test results, which confirmed that the staph infection has ravaged the weakest part of his body, in this case, his spine, destroying several discs and causing cracks to appear. So, in addition to his prostate surgery, he will probably also need back surgery. They are sending him to a neurologist for more information. His constant pain is discouraging. He can't continue to live like this. And I can't do a damn thing to help him. The powers that be did, finally, send him to a pain clinic yesterday that prescribed him a powerful painkiller, you know, the kind people rob pharmacies for. He had just taken the first pill when we visited him yesterday, so the effects hadn't totally kicked in yet, but I hope they do, soon.
Meanwhile, in about one month we will note the one-year anniversary of leaving Dinky College and moving in with Husband's parents. I absolutely cannot fathom the fact that we have been there for an entire year. Our move-in date for our new house keeps getting pushed back because who knew completely renovating a house would take such a long-ass time? After the wedding last Saturday, we drug our exhausted, hungover butts out of bed and drove to Indianapolis with two pickup trucks to retrieve our hardwood flooring. We appreciate the muscled help of Diosthocles, whom we somehow conned into coming along and lugging around our forty-eight boxes of wood. Our carpeting will finally be installed Tuesday, and if it ever stops raining, we'll pick up the rest of our tile and cement board for the two downstairs bathrooms before laying the hardwood and installing the kitchen cabinets. Aside from other semi-minor fixes and installations, we should be able to move the majority of our junk into our new abode after that. Maybe we'll be living in our house by this time next year. Maybe.
Has anyone seen my pants?