I just spent more than half an hour preparing my medications for the week.
They call it a cocktail, which is exceptionally mean because these medications prohibit drinking cocktails.
My granny medicine case (four time slots per day) is full and I am back to having to carry a day around with me so that no matter where I am I can take the noon pill. The good thing is that this addition is reminding me to take my vitamins and calcium too.
I am up to nine pills in the morning. The alchemist, as I've come to call the psychiatrist, says that if it turns out the four little tiny pills seem to work he can combine them into one larger dose, thus reducing the morning intake to six.
The redo at night isn't so bad--it's just those four minis, which are kind of cute and go down easily.
I am continually impressed with my new found ability to down the bunch in one handful tossed back and followed by water. The very same girl who used to take Advil one at a time, place carefully on the back of my tongue before swallowing with water.
I have also grown attached to my week-container. This morning I did not want to stand in the cold kitchen to sort, so I carried a giant bowl-full of bottles back to the flannel sheets and duvet and fixed myself up in bed.
Despite the clutter that threatens to consume our living space, I really still am OCD about organization. So, I found a system that takes me down the column of the day in a way that I do not have to repeatedly search for the meds that get to play twice a day. If it weren't so time consuming and purpose-driven aggravating it might almost be fun.
The cleaning thing really frustrates me. I would be delighted to have an immaculate home. One where there were no boxes still to be unloaded, no papers waiting to be filed, no clutter at all.
But one day this week when I was feeling particularly depressed in the morning I actually found it easier to just drop the gallon water jug on the floor after I emptied it into my glass. Part frustration that my plan of having easy access water by my bedside all day, the fact that I was pouring while walking through the living room and felt it too far to go back to the kitchen of this little two bedroom apartment made me actually pause and think, "Huh. Yeah. I'm just going to drop this here and deal with it later."
I did pick it up when the occasion required passing it on the way to the kitchen, but still. It's sick logic. Fortunately I only do these kinds of things with items that are clean, so it's not actually dirty in here, just really unorganized.
I know to break the task of cleaning the whole house into just cleaning one room, and even then cleaning only one section of the room, but that section seems so daunting. Perhaps if I took a pile of items from one of the sections and sat in the hallway where Justin would not be able to stand continuously stepping over the mess I could do it.
I can do a lot of things just to help him.
Last weekend I did the laundry (I always do that, but I wonder if I lived alone how much more of my wardrobe would be worn before I ran out and had no choice but to wash clothes) and ironed and prepared his business-wear for the week. It's a task I cherished because I cherish him and he was flipping out over the paper and the studying he had to do before beginning a new rotation that would require him to work in clinics and wear his white coat instead of the luxurious shorts and T-shirts he has enjoyed for the month.
We can't afford for him to own numerous dress shirts and slacks, so most of his wardrobe comes from birthday and Christmas gifts from me and my parents. It's not a big deal, since guys mostly wear blue, gray or white shirts in some variation of pattern or stripe (I've thrown pink, lavender and different shades of blue into the mix--for my blue-eyed almost stylin' love). There is enough of everything, and while he owned only one or two ties when we met he now has a rack full of them, which gives me the artistic opportunity to mix colors. Tragically, almost creepily, our landlord gave him the chance to pick out a whole bunch of ties after one of our neighbors died, leaving apparently no family behind who wanted his tie collection. So now we have these cool retro ties that are actually vintage, not some modern wanna-be replication.
Because I had the luxury of time, what with not having a job and all, this week Justin got to wear new combinations that gave his wardrobe the illusion of a fresh new look.
We shop at Ross (when I can stand the horrific disorganization and chaos), Loehmann's (where I scored two scarves for my hair or other looks, plus neato DKNY shoes for $7) and the sale racks of department stores, outlets and the Navy exchange. I scored a $3.50 dress shirt for him there, and it's turned out to be a favorite because of its colorful stripes against a white background and--this is its best feature--it never needs to be ironed.
I heard someone at work once brag that she bought a purse for "$40, see, it is possible to get an great bag without spending a lot of money." I immediately scanned my closet for something more than $40 and all I could come up with were shoes (an important investment for my freakishly narrow and long size 10 feet; comfortable shoes protect your feet, knees, hips and back from owwies) and coats... but even the coat I think I bought on sale.
I don't think I will shop too differently when I am a Doctor's Wife. Maybe I'll modernize my wardrobe now and then with something trendy, but mostly I like my quirky and alternately preppy/bohemian/artsy style that no one recognizes unless they too shop at Target or keep clothes that still fit from high school and college... 1992's sweater is today's "cool sweater, where'd you get that?"