For the last few years there were surgeries that went sideways. Dr appointments, working.... and due to that, i spent the night at my dad's house.
We had a basket of laundry that needed to be folded and so it's been sitting in my
Living room, i couldn't bring myself to fold it. But today my friends asked if they could
Stay at my house to go to the draft...
So i ripped off the bandaid and folded the towels, and pulled the sheets out. And there they were. The pillow cases. Pillow cases I've seen a lot of times. But this time it kind of hit different. I won't be spending the night at my dads any longer (yes i already knew it)
There was something about staying at my dad's house that brought both security and PTSD. Funny how things can be both/and not either/or. I love the sound of the pocket door (if i could I'd change every door in my house to a pocket door!!) because I'd have to shut it when going to bed because Lawd have mercy that man had the tv on 100!
We are finishing up the house to sell and it's getting closer and closer to saying goodbye to it for the last time.
Also at the the bottom of the basket was my dad's bathrobes. I'll be posting about that soon !
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