Sidetracked

The other day my sister and I were driving through an upscale neighborhood in the town I live in (which is where my neurologist lived before he left me for Florida) and while we were looking at the houses I was sidetracked for about 23.7 seconds. I started thinking how nice such a big house in such a fancy neighborhood would be. And then I came back to reality and myself. If I have learned nothing else from this disease I have learned what really matters in this life, and, sorry to say, big fancy houses ain't it. What would I do with all that space? I could never keep up with it and I don't need it unless I was going to start an orphanage, which is the only reason I can think of that one would need 10 bedrooms and 14 bathrooms. And how impressive would a fancy car parked in the handicapped spot look? Not very, especially when they see me lumbering out with a cane on a bad day. I don't want to play keep-up-with-the-Jones' when I am content with not being like everyone else. Status symbols mean nothing to me when I can't even go to an outdoor event in the summer anymore, and I am not impressed by others' displays of money. You can keep your fancy homes, and cars and whatever else if it makes you feel better, I won't hold it against you, but I am not envious--I would rather be able to walk my dog around the block. That makes me envious.