Dirty Socks and Tears

The last two days my forgiveness tank has been empty. I’ve cried hard twice. Screamed at mom, yelling that I hated her, until my throat was raw with anger. It was almost like I was 16 again, except I’m up against the wall alone. Gasping for understanding. And it isn’t a play I want to be in or a date I want to go on, it’s the sheer amount of things left undone. I have a quote I favor by Brene Brown (it needs a ‘over a letter, but my keyboard won’t let me!). “No matter what gets done and how much is left undone, I am enough.” I have these words on index cards on walls of the house. I have them on a paper in my wallet. Unfortunately, I’m not sure the US Treasury Department does. (And I’m not entirely sure it is accurate in this place where I’m at!)

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I have paperwork stating the IRS has taken funds from different areas, but there are still monies owed. Then, the last couple of years, not a single letter. Which is crazy. Mum saved EVERYTHING. I have no idea why some of it even mattered. (one of my helper friends suggested that in the past many items were allowed to be deducted and sometimes, we just keep saving receipts to do so.) I didn’t want to get up on Tuesday, because of sorting papers. When I did get up, every time I looked at the mess, I got all teary.

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So, I decided to sort stuff in the drawers. Now, I’m itchy. One of mom’s drawers was full of hosiery and rolled up belts that match dresses in the closet. I only hope the dresses are still there, because taking a dress in to a resale place is a grand idea. Yet, most people don’t want clothing that isn’t intact. The worst thing I sorted were socks. Old sweat filled, nasty, many worn out, dirty socks. At least 3 of those plastic grocery bags full. (socks are easy to squish into bags) I can’t imagine why she didn’t put them in the basket for me to wash. Many of them looked like ones I’d watched her put on.  I found many new things, several packets of hose that she and I could have worn in my early teens!  There were things for the plays she was in, slips and tiny camisoles, and oddly a brand new t-shirt with a spot on it. It read ‘My favorite team is the Vikings and anyone who beats the Packers.’ The odd parts were why on earth was it in with the hosiery and slips and tiny bras she hasn’t been able to wear in decades? Unless it was for sleeping, because there were a few of those sorts of things in the drawer. And how did it get a spot in the middle of the words? Was she given it by another Viking fan while watching a game? Stories I’ll never know. I’m surrounded by those.

I often wish I’d have let her tell me more, but I was too annoyed with her. Stories are fun if the star isn’t the same person in each one. Or if the characters do the same thing they did in a previous story. (one of my pet peeves when it comes to book series!)

Later, my day improved. Slowly. I went to the post and visited my favorite people. And cried and hugged and was given tissue (sturdy soft stuff I bet would wash well!). I was complimented on how I looked in spite of my tears, I went and got ice cream, my earrings were admired (swag an author friend sent. She graduated from my high school before I did), a friend called, another old one texted and sent me pictures from where he fishes (he lost his dad months before mom died), I put away dishes (I didn’t mean for those to rhyme!), I talked to TnT, and napped with my bear. Now, the sun is setting and I’m going to skip it to take a shower. Hoping my frustrations will wash away with the soap and not back up into the basement again (it hasn’t done that in a week!!).

Tomorrow a friend might be coming over to help me add up numbers. After, there is a chance I’ll head into town to see about selling mom’s snazzy sewing machine, visit the library and their better internet, and probably purchase some more ice cream. (Carb Smart, so it isn’t as bad as the ‘good’ stuff) Then, again, I might do the town thing on Thursday. Which is also the day for a wedding shower. I’m not sure when the wedding is, I think the invite was sent to Oregon and I wasn’t told about it yet. I believe it is on Saturday. I meet with an accountant on Monday and Little Bear comes up for two weeks on the following Saturday! His dad comes up the next Saturday. I have so much to do before then.

Yikes! I feel tears again, so I’m going to post this and sign off… (I’d have one of the beers in the fridge, but I’m too worried about carbs!!)