The Dependent

Today was pretty uneventful. It has been pouring rain all day. Our dog, who hates the rain and won't go outside when the sprinklers are on at home, is struggling with the constant moisture. I've discovered if you take him outside and bring 2 umbrellas (one for you and one for the dog), he'll get 'finished with his business' faster. [Have I crossed the Too Much Information line?]

Anyway - Greg received my bank cards at his office yesterday. His banker personally brought them by. After signing and thumb printing several documents, they let him have them.

It's interesting. They all have his name on it in large type with my little name underneath. See - I'm not allowed to work here. We've signed paperwork to the fact. Greg also signed paperwork where he legally committed to covering all of my expenses while I am in this country. So these are HIS cards that I have permission to use.

Really - I don't work anyway and don't plan on working. I ALWAYS use HIS money. I don't have any problem spending it. The thing is, at home it feels like "our" money; here it feels like "his". At no fault of his, mind you. Trust me, it won't stop me from spending it. I just don't really care for this "dependent" feeling that I have.

I am entirely dependent on him to communicate for me, to take me where I need to go, for money, for social contact - everything really. I love the man and don't doubt his ability to care for my every need, but I'd like to take a little bit off of him. He doesn't complain, but I know he is exhausted. Speaking in another language all day is tiring. Just listening to it wears me out. Getting used to this new version of his job is a lot. Taking care of me entirely just adds to that.

He's amazing and understanding and kind and never even acts frustrated. He's a good man. Thank goodness I have someone like him to depend on.