neyronrose (neyronrose) wrote,
neyronrose
neyronrose

real life Sunday

Grocery trip, then off to the parental units' house.

In more detail: R.A. and I had made this big shopping list with contributions from R.'s boyfriend M.  I didn't sleep all night, so I slept well into the day.  M. recommended Target as being where he and R. get all kinds of groceries and things cheap.  I think I'm supposed to boycott Target, but I have no idea why.  I rationalized that the boycott would wait until I found out.

Meanwhile, M. had called me at 1:30 p.m., but I was asleep.  It turned out he'd called to tell me to get some caffeine into R. to wake her up.  Since we hadn't gone shopping yet, that wouldn't have happened anyway.  Once I got up and got going, we headed to the nearby Target.  M. had said that R. knew where things were there, and she mostly did.  We found a number of the groceries on the list.  I had R. get diet Pepsi, and I looked at other choices of caffeine for her.

"Isn't Pepsi supposed to be bad for you?" R. asked.

"It's diet," I said.  That means that it has a lot less sugar, though I saw something on TV lately about how diet sodas have a sugar-ammonia combination for their sweetener that causes cancer in laboratory animals.  However, I didn't choose to go into that then.

I looked at small coffeemakers.  The little four-cup Black & Decker one looked easy enough to use, but there were none underneath the display model.  I asked one of the employees, and she said they didn't have any in the back, and didn't sell display models.  I ended up getting a Mr. Coffee programmable model, though I didn't have any reason to program it.  I just didn't want to leave without getting a coffeemaker.

R. and I went back to groceries.  I told her that I'd already ordered the Dunkin Donuts original kind of coffee, but that she should look for another kind she liked.  She went for Dunkin Donuts French Vanilla.  Fair enough, I thought.

We dropped our groceries off just inside the service entrance of the apartment, and I told R. to see if she could find a grocery cart.  When I got back from parking, she had indeed found a cart and put the groceries in it.  I was really happy.  We went up on the service elevator.  I worked on putting the things that needed refrigeration away.  I told R. to put the cart back downstairs so other people could use it.  Presumably she complied.

After the cold things were in the refrigerator, it was time to experiment with the coffeemaker.  I followed the "first use" preparation directions, then we were ready to go.  I found out that R. doesn't have any measuring spoons.  I guesstimated with a silverware tablespoon.  I watched the coffee brew, fascinated, and pleased that I seemed to have followed the directions correctly.  I am a tea drinker, not a coffee drinker, under normal circumstances.

While I was making coffee, R. was starting to freak out because she couldn't get a hold of J., and I'd be leaving soon.  "Take deep breaths," I said.  "Don't have a panic attack.  I'll be here for a while yet."  After all, the coffee had just started to brew.  "I'm sure you'll reach J. soon."

"I'm going to call J. again," R. said.  Finally, after trying his land line I don't know how many times and his cell phone, she reached him and he said he'd come up.  I had poured the coffee.  Two cups only makes about a mug.  I suppose four cups would make two mugs.  "Should I drink the coffee?" R. asked when she was in the middle of trying to locate J.

"I don't know if you need caffeine right now.  You're already kind of hyper."  I added sweetener and cream to my cup, and drank mine.  R. drank hers right before J. came up.  I'm sure it was weaker than it would have been if I'd had the right measurement of coffee, but it still tasted good.  French vanilla, cream, and coffee flavoring are a winning combination for me.

R. seemed to settle down once J. joined us.  She started to heat up dinner for them while I did the slight amount of packing I wanted to do.  After all, I still have a fair amount of clothes at the house.  I told J. about how Mom was getting her staples out tomorrow, and that I'd said I'd be there for that.  "And how was your day?" I asked J.

"Good," he said.  "A group of us went to see the Phillies game, and they won."  It seems that the groups he's in do interesting things.  "It was two busloads of people."  He'd gone to see a Temple Owls game, which I think is basketball, a few weeks previous.  I wonder if R. could get into one of the groups for the handicapped that go on fun trips like that.

"Who was pitching," I asked.

"Oswalt," he said after a moment.

"Oh, yes, he's good."

J. nodded.  "It was a good game."  He talked about some of the hitting, too, though I didn't catch all the players' names he mentioned, since he mumbles and I was washing dishes.  I was glad he'd had a nice day out, though.

Mom had wanted me to help her shave, or help her keep her balance on the shower stool while she shaved.  I told her I'd help her keep her balance.  I got to the house around 9 p.m., and Mom was too tired to go shave by then.  I know from my years as a nursing aide that that's one of the projects that gets the helper soaked, too.  Perhaps tomorrow, though Mom said that the physical therapist was coming at 10 a.m.  She'll have a busy day, with physical therapy at 10 and seeing the orthopedist to get her staples out at 2.

Splitting my time between Philadelphia and the western suburbs is rather wearing.  R. starts crying when I leave because she doesn't want to be alone.  M. told me Saturday that she'd started crying Friday afternoon when I took off, even though J. was there.  He was on the phone with her for some time to calm her down, he said.  Not my problem.  I have a life.  I'm not going to be restricted in my travels because my roommate doesn't want to be alone.  I'm not getting paid to be her companion.  I'm paying rent to share the apartment.

Mom, while she hasn't cried -- in front of me, at least -- seems glad enough to see me and be able to use my nursing aide skills.  Dad gets so cranky about doing anything like nursing care.  I'm just used to it, and don't mind doing a bit of work to make Mom more comfortable.  Except for being in pain and having somewhat limited mobility, she seems to be in pretty good spirits.  People from church are visiting her and bringing her dinner.  She's got her romance novels, and her Phillies games to watch.  I'm sure not being able to drive will start to wear on her sooner or later, but she's far from that point now.
Tags: medical, shopping
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