It’s time.

I’ve delayed and delayed all day long.  Played far too many losing rounds of Candy Crush and “solved” some scenes on Criminal Case.  Caught up with what feels like every Real Housewives of Insert City.  Fixed the broken handle on my oven.  Cleaned out the bottom of Sam’s closet (didn’t know he owned so many pairs of flip flops or that some of last year’s Easter candy was hidden in an old shoe).  And I’ve texted a few friends about my foul mood today.

I’m so cranky because I have to get everything together to return with Nate to the hospital to begin his fourth round of treatment.  This is now routine.  In fact, most everything is still in the corner of the living room where I dumped the items upon returning home last week — Nate’s bin of toys, his bath tub, my books, the egg crate for the futon in the hospital room, my pillows and far too many bags of stuff I need for the upcoming three weeks to keep my sanity (once unpacked our tiny space looks more like a cozy studio apartment than antiseptic hospital room).  Our clothes are even packed in the large suitcase upstairs.

So truthfully I don’t have much to do but come to terms with the return to the hospital.  That’s never an easy thing to do.  The chemo line, Nate’s nausea afterward, the total loss of privacy, not being at home …

I think today is one of those days where it’s better to not think about the future, even if it is just half a day away.  I’m going to concentrate on the present.

Sam’s just arrived home.  There’s a package of semi-sweet morsels on the counter ready to be mixed with cookie dough and X-box games to be played.

Reality can wait until the morning.  That’s when I’ll lug everything to the car.