"It's a change in focus from living in pain to living with pain," my counselor says helpfully.
And so I try to imagine that,
coming up instead with the mental image of
living with a nagging mother-in-law who insists on coming along,
complaining at every outing.
"I can't stand too long in lines," at museums, at parties, she reminds.
"I can't sit in a metal folding chair," she says at the church potluck.
She's no help around the house, either.
"I can't lift the kids anymore, you know." Or the laundry, or the dishes, either.
I wish she'd go back home, this pain in the neck, thorn in the side, pain in the butt, backbreaking woman.
