A — Slow — Recovery is what I have. It is not my preferred recovery. I like the ones that you quickly spring back to life and are thankful that twenty-four hours is over. This is different. This will take longer and I know it. And, I don’t like it. There are lots of reason not to, actually. The garden for one: “Don’t worry about the garden, we’ll take care of the garden” — It is overgrown with weeds! Thanks kids. The house looks like I’m living at Auntie Mae’s which, trust me on this, is not a good thing. And the microwave and refrigerator insides needs a cleaning, which makes me wonder why, if you would not cook in a dirty pan, why would you heat something in a dirty microwave or store it in a dirty refrigerator. This makes zero sense to me.
Now, what has gotten me on this rant? The trash, that’s what. For the third straight week it was not taken to the curb. It is now beginning to be stinky. I’m loosing my patience with adult children, even an adult grandchild, and I am ready to get better so that at my age I can manage to keep things tidy, clean and in order.
You would think that by example somethings would be learned by your children and not need any — daily and weekly — reminders of things that need doing. end of rant.