Packing and Parents

Packing is a strange beast. It is really fun and completely frustrating all at the same time. I've had a little trouble sticking with a single approach. On Sunday, I made a really great list of everything I wanted to pack including each specific shirt, pill bottle and Hershey bar. On Monday, I began to pull everything out of the closet. As I placed the clothes into neat piles, I couldn't imagine what I had been thinking on Monday when I made the list. I tossed the list and decided to make it up as I went. On Tuesday, I tried to put everything into the suitcases. It didn't fit. I dug through the trash and pulled the list out. I started marking off things I could do without. (Sadly, the Hershey bar was cut.) I pulled the non-essentials out of the bags. On Wednesday, I decided my list (the one rescued from the trash) was too messy so I rewrote it - with changes, of course, Both bags zipped and meet all airline regulations. At least, I assume they meet regulations. You trying comprehending the impressively complicated and wordy international luggage guidelines for, not just one but, two airlines.

Of course, not everything is in there yet. I've still got to pack socks and chones (that's what my sister - and most of Mexico - calls panties). I'm kind of still using those things! I'm pretty sure there's enough room for everything. I mean, if you eyeball a pair of socks and then multiple that by 15 and try to determine if there's that much space still in the suitcase . . . I think it's gonna fit. Maybe I should go check again.

Gotta go!

Well, one more thing before I return to my current obsession. My parents are making leaving rather stressful. A few months back my father was sent home on disability for back pain. My mother, during this time, started suffering knee pain. She ended up needing surgery. Not to be outdone, my father went to the knee doctor and was scheduled for surgery a week after mom. Just as I got my mother on the path to recover, my father's surgery went poorly and he is now on crutches for a month. So I'm taking care of him when my mother gets a nasty upper respiratory infection. I'm nursing her back to health when my father falls from his crutches in the middle of the night and knocks his head on the counter. Seriously?!?!?! How am I supposed to leave these people by themselves?

I know it's not the norm and they're not doing it on purpose so I shouldn't be frustrated about it. Still . . .

You know, back in the day, I'm fairly certain my mother told my Air Force recruiter I was gay in an attempt to keep me from joining. (This was before "Don't Ask Don't Tell".) Is it really such a far stretch to believe that she scheduled surgery now to sway my decision to leave? Nahhhh, that's ridiculous. She wouldn't do that. I'm sure she wouldn't do that. I am mostly sure she wouldn't do that.

I have to go eyeball my luggage now.