I've spent the last 6 1/2 years trying to like living in New Jersey, and it just isn't working. Maybe I'd like it more if it was actually my life that I was living. Or maybe I'd like it more if I didn't have to be home for dinner and back in time to make sure my grandma makes it to bed safely every single day. Maybe I'd like it more if there were bars and coffee shops sit in and meet other people. It seems like a lot of maybes. Since I have no control over those things, I'll just muster on with the adventure. I swear I'm going write a book called "Adventures in Grandparentland".
There we are, waiting for the next doctor's appointment. We spend a lot of time in waiting rooms, A lot of time. This specific time, last week, my grandma was anxious to see of her doctor had any advice for her choking problems. Living to be 90 and over really isn't as glamorous as tv makes it look. I now know more about the esophagus than I ever needed to know, and how to deal with hers not working properly. This isn't one of those things that gets better, either. Swell.
Maybe I'll start transferring all those composition books I've filled into blog posts.
