I am hardly homeless, but I have realized that in my own home, I have no place I can truly call my own. I do not have a bed that I can sleep the whole night in consistently nor do I have a closet to put my clothes…there are dressers, I think I have 2 drawers. The closet has been under reconstruction for about a year now…who knows when it will be complete.
In the kitchen there are drawers and cabinets for kitcheny things,,.but no one respects the organization that I try to keep in place. I find cough medicine in with the dinner dishes, bowls fresh from the dishwasher are simply left on the counter, because, I am told, it is not known where these items live or simply someone doesn’t want to bend over.
My opinion is not valid…when I state an opinion or express a feeling, I am told I am wrong. I was asked what I wanted for Christmas by my step-daughter, I answered pajama bottoms…seeing as how the ones I was wearing at the time had ripped halfway up the side of one leg. “No you don’t!”, was the response from my husband, who obviously knows what I want better than I do. “You have at least 20 pair of pajama bottoms, you just don’t know where they are!” Whaat? I am still trying to figure out this exchange…