You're goddamned right!

A couple weeks ago, when the new windows were being installed, I asked Dad if I could paint.  I mean, we have to change some things.  He said that I could.  I got super excited and went out right away - got my colors, my brushes and pans, everything.

I still haven't painted.

Today, I finally got off my ass and started doing some of the prep work.  You know, before you paint you have to clean the walls, make sure you get any cobwebs, etc.  Especially if you have dogs.  This also meant general cleaning.  Which meant that I had to deal with the bags of clothes that have been sitting behind the couch since about a week after Mom died.  Hrm.... I'm pretty dense sometimes, but that might be why I haven't painted.

Tacky, right?  You would think that since they were RIGHT THERE that either Dad or I would have just dealt with them already.  Nope.  I am a master of ignoring something if I choose to.  So I walked past those bags, every day, multiple times a day for a couple of months.

I managed to ignore them for the first part of the day.  I've been attempting to push myself into doing things by thinking, "You *have* to do this" but that doesn't work, because immediately the other half of my brain is like, "Eff you, I do what I want!"  It's a goddamned circus up in my head sometimes.  Anyway, I worked around them.  The washer was fixed, so I took the couch blankets down and started washing them.  Which meant that the couches needed to be vacuumed, etc.  I sorted a lot of my craft stuff that I had left laying about.  Put the couch blankets in the dryer, came back upstairs.

First thing I see are those fucking bags.  Well.  I guess it's time to do this.  I got a trash bag, and started going through everything.  Saved a few fuzzy socks that I'll wear, and a couple of old t-shirts that I know either myself or my sisters will want later.  Ran across several shirts with tags still on them - and so many pairs of sleeping pants.  I mean, an insane amount of sleeping pants - at least as compared to the number of shirts.

See, when Mom first got sick, she would wear lounge clothes around the house.  And if we got her anything to wear, we would get those cute sets.  You know what I'm talking about - the ones with the matchy matchy tops and bottoms.  As she started getting worse, she started losing movement.  Further down the line, she had muscle contracture in both her arms and her legs.  Dressing her in those pants was painful for her.  With her legs bent all the time, they made her sweaty and uncomfortable.  She hated them.  Therefore, she did not wear them.

I had a fight about it once with a nurse.  She copped an attitude with me about the fact that Mom didn't wear "diapers" (fuck you lady, we call them underwear, she can still hear you) regularly and that we didn't put pants on her.  I had to remind her again that Mom wasn't stupid, deaf, or dumb.  That the only reason Mom didn't talk to her is because she didn't like her.  That Mom said she didn't want to wear the freaking pants, and we were NOT going to make her.  I mean good christ on a crutch - leave the woman alone!

I know - sounds stupid and depressing - but a good memory came out of that one.  I finished my somewhat polite rant, the nurse had this look on her face, and Mom says, a little slurred, but very clear, "Damn right!"

I'm still grinning from that memory.  So now they're sorted.  I'll drop off these bags, and as it's just getting cold someone who needs them will have some warm fuzzy sleeping pants. And a few Eddie Bauer shirts that still have the tags on them haha.

You're goddamned right!!