Round Two!

So, since I know all 3 of my readers are sitting on the edge of their seats about what's been going on in my life, I suppose I'll write an update. My second surgery is a week from today, May 16th. My life is so hectic otherwise that I have absolutely no opportunity to process how I feel about being cut open again. Here's why I feel okay about being cut open again: my left ankle has always been in better shape than my right, and since I've already expereinced the first surgery, I ostensibly know what's coming. I will have 6 scars total, and lots of physical therapy, and the ability to walk on my own two feet. However, on the down side, I am still a little nervous, and I'm really feeling inconvenineced by having to go through this again. Although I am excited to not have to work for another week. Unfortunately, I will be spending most of this week packing up the gumdrop and figuring what I do and don't want to keep from the last 23 years of my life. I'm not looking foward to this.

As a result of the fact that we are moving out of the gumdrop, people have started giving me their opinions on a variety of topics regarding the things which are in the house, and specifically the things which belonged to my mother. I understand that this is a touchy subject, and that everyone has opinions as to what is important, but I have had the last three years to decide what's important, and I am damned sure that the dining room table doesn't qualify. 15 feet of mahogany really means nothing to me, especially in terms of my mother and memories of her, other than being forced to pull the thing apart to add leaves solo and setting the table for 12. Good riddance, table! My dad and I have tried to solve this problem by having a party at the house; we're going to allow the members of our family to go through and tell us what they'd like to keep. However, this seems to be translating to people telling me what they'd like ME to keep. As if I don't have enough. On any given day, I am probably wearing upwards of two or three things that belonged to my mother that she either gave to me or I inherited. Taking much more will turn my tiny apartment into a shrine to her, and that's just morbid and creepy. I want nothing to do with that. I am happy to share her things with my family and her friends, but I can't take anything else. So I know that was a side rant, but I have had two of these extremely uncomfortable conversations in the last 3 days, and it's frustrating. I feel like I'm not being trusted to make my own decisions, and being told that the proper way to remember my mom is to take the ugly dining room table just isn't cutting it.

Rant over.