little_tristan: (Rat)
Mark wanted to get up at work time so we'd be tired enough to go to bed early and get up on time tomorrow. It worked. I'm really tired. Being out of bed has its perks, though. Mark's washing the bedding. And yesterday I had my first shower in two weeks. Being clean is fun.

My shoulder hurts but that's not Mark's fault. Murphy slept on it funny. I don't much mind. It's better than not being slept on at all. How do people sleep without furry creatures being furry all over them? I used to know but I've forgotten.

I've decided to tweet DJ Qualls after every Legit ep, just in case they're factoring in viewer responses in deciding whether or not to renew it for next season. He didn't tweet back this week, but he did favorite it. Maybe it's a good tweet to show the network.

Still trying to sort out my feelings about this Michelle Shocked thing. I've admired her for so long, as a person and a musician, and now she's come out as a born again homophobe. One of the things I always admired in her music was the blend of modern life and old style Christianity. Of course I also kind of assumed she was gay. Nothing I've read about her, or in her newsletters, implied otherwise. But here she is with her hate the sin, love the sinner rhetoric, and we're in the end times because gays are getting married.

Anchorage was always one of my favorite songs. It reminds me of my dad. Now it's probably always going to remind me of outdated hate.

The rest of my day is all paper work. Yesterday we got five pieces of mail. One of them wasn't from Kaiser. We're trying to get on their financial aid program to help pay Mark's hospital bill. It only covers his expenses at their hospital, which aren't too bad, but we need every penny to pay what they won't cover at ours.

And I'm late for paying bill, just 'cause of the zombie state. Also, I have an appointment to do our taxes next week, and while I have all the stuff, it's nowhere near in order. I hate tax time. I never know going in if we'll get a refund or have to pay more. And my accountant goes to what used to be my church and is always asking when I'm coming back. I just can't sit there in her office full of angels and explain that I'm not. It's a very stressful event all around.

But good to have over. All the H&R Block and Turbo Tax ads on tv have been wigging me out since January.

Yet I remembered just now that I haven't done Russell's yet. I use Turbo Tax online for that, but they didn't send the eight or nine email reminders that I usually get. Hope that's not going to be a problem.

I'll find out soon. First Russell and I have to go to the store and hunt up food that Mark will eat.
little_tristan: (Bloom County cutter john)
It's actually been pretty fun. Steve's gf was here this morning and she left her five year old Monkey for him to watch. I don't know exactly how that conversation went, but it resulted in an extra hand dusting this morning and a trip to the park this afternoon. It never did rain, or get hot.

The park is a long walk for a five year old, so Monkey got to ride in my lap (safely buckled in, of course). Steve rode his bike and left us there for a minute while he went to the store for refreshments. I watched Monkey play on the structure until he got back and then it was time for more disc golf. Monkey is surprisingly good at it, although having an audience seems to be throwing Steve. I almost told him to relax, he already knows I'm going home with him, but that would just throw him off worse. ;)

He played one round and then we stopped so Monkey could climb and slide some more. They played a few more holes before he got bored again and there was more swinging and climbing. I have video. We walked all the way back through the park and Steve rode him around on his bike for a while, until they had one of those minor accidents that are the reason you only let kids ride on your bike on soft grass (if at all). Monkey cried and Steve was competent and comforting and five minutes later we were on our way home to make supper. Right now he's playing at the neighbors' while Steve cooks. Apparently Monkey's also staying the night.

While all this was going on, something else happened. It started yesterday when I picked up my prescriptions at Walgreens. There were supposed to be three and I didn't notice until I got home and opened the bags that the Vicodin was missing. This morning I checked on my iPhone app to see if it was ready yet, but it said that it had been picked up.

I called the pharmacy and explained it to the manager, thinking it was a mistake and this highly controlled narcotic was just sitting on the shelf, the victim of a clerical error. But no. He checked the computer and verified my part of the story. That I paid for the ones I actually got at about a quarter to noon. It also said that the Vicodin wasn't filled until about a quarter past two, more than two hours after we left, and was sold about two hours after that. That put it between four and four-thirty, when we were all home watching tv and eating supper like we do every afternoon. The manager said he'd check the videotape and get back to me.

I kept thinking about the rude clerk, whom I've never seen there before, and the dudebro in the sunglasses. It's hard to pick up a script like that. You need to know things about yourself that match the info in their computer. The only thing that made sense was that the clerk, or another staff member, pocketed it or sold it to an accomplice (this sounds paranoid but we were victims of a credit card scam a few years ago that was way more complex). That would make the perpetrator stupid, because if it had been filled on time s/he could have easily said it was in the bag and I couldn't have proven it wasn't.

What I was later told was that it got mixed in with someone else's prescriptions and given to them, although it still scanned out to me. I got my refill for free, ultimately, and I hope whoever actually got my original one is okay. Assuming that's really what happened. It also sounds like something you'd tell a customer when you're potentially seriously fucked and don't want it to go public. Like if I get my pills and someone gets fired, there's no need to make a big fuss.

I still haven't decided if I'm okay with that.
little_tristan: (Steve Dallas)
But right now it's really sunny. Yesterday was hot. We went to Walgreens and I rediscovered my capacity for rage when a big old dudebro in cheap sunglasses cut in front of me in line and the clerk let him. So I have emotions again. That's good. Then there was sitting in the backyard reading while Steve did something really cool with a nice cut of beef. I think it was a loin but he made it into little marinated steaks. It was awesome.

It was still really warm and sunny after so Steve and I went over to the park and he showed me how to play disc golf. Which I can never, ever actually do, but he's really good and it's fun to watch. If it doesn't rain today we might go again. I like being outside.

Apparently the book club appearance I'm supposed to do is this weekend. Heather kept reminding me about it but I just wasn't getting how close it was. Good time to clear my head, right? But I'm not thinking about it too much. Not a good time for more stress.
little_tristan: (Steve Dallas)
I knew it was going to be a bad luck day when I started dropping everything. But even I didn't know how stupid it was going to get. I dropped something when I was on the porch and thought the biggest danger was running over it. But it turned out not to be on the porch, it was on the powerbase of my chair, just under the bar and behind the fender. I couldn't reach it so I decided the answer was to get on the sofa where I could approach from a better angle. It was going okay for the first few seconds, and then my skirt came in contact with the leather and I flew off there like the Rocketeer in mid-seizure. It was a bad fall, a bad landing, and a bad time to have my phone charging across the room.

An hour later, having lost movement in my right arm, which was splayed out behind my back, and all feeling in my right leg, which was just pinned under the rest of me, I heard the old man on the ramps and started yelling again. He came in and we had a hilarious few minutes where he first had to identify my phone as a phone and then unplug it from the computer, since he just got a new one and I haven't programmed Steve's number in it yet, and then I started calling Steve. Who had his phone on vibrate again and didn't answer until the a-n yelled up the stairs a few times. But. )
little_tristan: (Default)
Also, I'm sick. It must be allergies, although it's different from allergies I've had in the past. My right eye hurts. Not all the time, just when I look at things. When I rotate my eyeball in its socket it feels like stabbing hot needles. And now the bones under it hurt. It's making me very tired and disinterested in most everything.

However, I had a pretty good week. Steve, either because he felt bad or because his side project is going well and he's happy, was downright pleasant all week. I tried to leave him alone as much as possible, but he sought out my company on at least two occasions. Friday his girlfriend and her kids were here all day and he took us out to lunch. I had quiche.

Two things I learned at lunch on Friday. One: Old people write about how great it is to be a little kid, discovering a new world of magic and wonder every day, but that's because they're old. Actual kids are bored shitless most of the time. All they do is wait for adults who are busy doing endless boring adult stuff and having conversations they can't understand. Two: There's a reason you don't take kids under eight to restaurants with silverware on the table. Actually there are a lot of reasons. Boredom is at least three of them.

This evening we're going up to Portland to buy a stove we saw on Craigslist. It's exactly like the one we have (which we got at a yard sale 9 or 10 years ago), only ours is kind of dead. At least three of the four burner igniters are broken so we have to turn on the gas and flick a Bic. We get burned a lot. Then, last year, one hinge broke on the broiler door so it was always kind of hanging open. We put up with it until a couple weeks ago when I backed into it and ripped the whole thing off. It's seriously screwing with the temperature, and last night it fell off again while Russ was baking potatoes and melted the linoleum floor. None of this is good for my eye.

Neither is using the computer, but I'm still trying to catch up on my flist. I miss you.
little_tristan: (Steve Dallas)
I'm writing again! Finally! The Dancer is well underway and I was definitely right to drop some characters and make it all gay. Although I want to be as accurate as possible, so I'm still waiting for James, my Guide to All Things Gay, to get back to me so I can interrogate him on relationships. It must be done. Some things just don't translate to male/female.

Today was the cheeriest unbearable pain day ever. It was one of the undiagnosable things (Thing 2, the rare one), and I couldn't get enough drugs into myself before it completely took over. By the time Steve woke up and found me, I was bent double and strung up like a guitar string, just barely able to gasp out, "Whiskey. I need whiskey." And then tell him where it was hidden while he tried to talk me into letting him call an ambulance. But I'm not falling for that again. Last time I spent 4 days on a morphine drip with no food or water until they got tired of failing and sent me home. It's still twinging a bit, but the whiskey helped. A lot.
Click for more confused cheeriness )
little_tristan: (Puppy Upside Down Willow)
But it could have been worse. Long version of the story: The other day I was out on the front porch smoking (because I don't allow it in the house, except in Mark's man-cave office). I was gone 5-10 minutes, and when I came back in, the arch-nemesis was in the kitchen/dining room doorway beating Willow with his cane. I started screaming at him, telling him for the millionth time that that kind of behavior is just making things worse (he tries to close the half door by waving his cane around in the dining room (her territory) and hooking the door to pull it shut, which she also hates) and he went off me. There was a lot of shrieking about how I'M the one making it worse (now?) by not having trained her better from the beginning, and it's all my fault that she's a vicious bitch who deserves to die.

Sadly, Steve was out on the side steps having his own cigarette and telephone break (he likes privacy when he talks to his friends, which is totally his right) so he missed the whole thing. I took Will into my room and put up the baby gate, which she's terrified of because she hates inanimate objects that move when she touches them, and stayed in there crying like a fool until Steve came and found us. I told him what happened and explained that it's so awful because "Willow is our puppy of life and hope. Everyone died last year and Willow is the only good thing that came out of that whole God-awful mess (well, and you, of course)." Which made him go all shy and adorable, and eventually got me a hug. He said he couldn't talk to the a-n about it because it's not his place, but he would be willing to talk to the boys about the effect it's having on me (near hysteria), because that's unacceptable. I asked him not to because they know what the problem is and told me to handle it. And venting to Steve did make me feel better.

The next day, I found Doc's old Gentle Leader out in the shop and put it on Willow. She now wears in all day, until the boys come home at least, so I can keep her on a leash and not keep wrecking my arm like I was doing with the collar leash. She does pretty well with it and is with either me or Steve at all times, so she's safe. I also wrote the a-n a lengthy and rather hostile letter telling him she won't be running loose so he can just back the fuck off and leave her the fuck alone.
You can read it here if you want. )

Which brings me to my elbow. This morning when the boys left, I decided to play with Will for a while before putting the halter on. I was throwing her rubber bone and she was bringing it back, having a really great time. Right up until the fourth throw, when she brought it to me and then started playing keep away. I'd reach for it and she'd lower her head or drop it altogether, then hold it up and lower it when I reached again. It was on the third reach that I suddenly lost my balance and remembered as I fell that I hadn't put my seatbelt on. It's such an automatic action, the minute I'm dressed and sitting down I buckle up, but I totally forgot today.

Luckily Willow didn't know what was happening (is she coming down here to play with me?!?), so I landed pretty squarely on her with the right side of my body. This is good because my right shoulder is already nine kinds of fucked, so I rolled off her and landed on my left side. It was loud and scary and I hit my head. I also left my phone in its pocket on my chair, and since I can't sit up at all, it may as well have been on the roof with a dead battery. This being ten (TEN!) minutes after the boys left, and Steve being in the habit of sleeping til seven or eight, I had to make a LOT of noise to wake him up. It took about half an hour of shouting and other things (the third thing he said, after "What happened?" and "Are you okay?" was "Where did the video tapes come from?" My answer? "It was all I could reach and I was pounding them on the floor.") but he very promptly rescued me. He's a small man, maybe 5'6" and definitely weighs less than me, and has a sore back, but he refused to call the fire department for help and did an astounding job of picking up my enormous ass and getting it back into my chair. I gave him a Vicodin after and he said it helped.

So it was kind of my lucky day, even though my left elbow and knee are beautifully bruised. But don't worry, Willow is fine.
little_tristan: (Default)
Things have gotten much less poky over the past few days. I don't know if it was withdrawal from upping my sedatives and then cutting back again, or a worse then average hormonal shift, or maybe just your standard bi-polar shift. Whatever it was, it's backed off again. I'm still not fully functional, though, as I sprained my essential thumb again. So still no writing, but at least I'm not stressed about it.

I've been reading a lot, some good and some (coughcaitlinflanagancough) complete crap, but it makes me feel better. The dogs and cats are okay, and the boys are going to stand up for themselves at work today to the extent where they might get fired. I say it's about fucking time. (The good boss set up a really generous and understanding system wherein they could work/supervise 24 hours a day for a couple weeks and not die. Then he went on a business trip and the bad boss changed it to a system so bad we think he wants them to die. But the good boss comes back today and they're so ratting him out.)

Steve moved in yesterday so we're all fixed up on that front. We watched cartoons this morning and now he's cleaning the kitchen while I goof around online. How not-stressful is that? I just have to find him a bed so he can move out of the living room. No amount of warning can truly prepare a person for a house that comes alive at 3:30 in the morning. But I think Ranger liked having someone to sleep with.:)

Thank you all for the understanding and the peace and quiet while I shut down and rebooted, and especially to [livejournal.com profile] oddmonster for making sure all my systems came back online.
*love and hugs for everyone*
little_tristan: (Kitten Oxygen)
It was pretty standard stuff. I talked about the bleeding and bruising and such that I was still having after my last visit, almost three months ago. But I think it's better because when they drew blood, it not only stopped short of soaking the cotton ball, there isn't even a bruise in my elbow. The last couple times there was a huge bruise that lasted for weeks. So we're hoping the iron is working, and that's good news.

What bothered me was--okay, they have a new system. The patient gives all the information to a nurse who types it into the computer and then reads it to the doctor when he comes in. I told her about the depression cycles, the time my leg sprung a leak for no reason, and the occasional hallucinations, which might be a result of the antidepressants or just part of being me. I've had them before, so I'm trying to keep track and see if it's getting worse. And, as a side note, this isn't something that particularly bothers me. I mean, at the time, a little. But then I blink and it goes away. No big deal. But I don't think the nurse sees it that way. She introduced the spontaneous leg bleeding, which I had described as so painless and bizarre that my first reaction was to look up and see if it was dripping from the ceiling, by saying, "The patient admits to hallucinations, but..." And proceeded to make it sound like it might not have happened.

At the time, I was just upset about being doubted. I mean, I can tell the difference. It lasted a good five minutes. And I cleaned it up, for puppy's sake. There was bloody tissue in the trash all day. If it wasn't real, I'd have figured it out in just a few seconds. I do have a rational mind and it's still in charge. But once I got over being defensive about that, I started thinking admits to hallucinations? Like, should I not have? Is it a dirty, shameful thing that people are supposed to hide, like drug use and child beating? Did I blow my credibility with that nurse for good? Have I just blown my credibility with you? It's a worrisome thing, knowing you're not a liar but that people may not believe you anyway.

On the bright side, I may become less depressed again. And it seems like I'm no longer in danger of bleeding to death from a cat scratch. Unless they hit the varicose vein in my knee. I told him about Quo's recent experience with that and he just nodded and said he's seen it a few times, so I better be careful. I told him to tell that to Murphy Sloane. He's the one who hasn't retracted his claws since 2007.
little_tristan: (Kitten Star Me Kitten)
It's a little after midnight and I've made the executive decision to stay up all night. Herr and I both had trouble getting to sleep, but I failed completely while he succeeded after about an hour of false starts. I was considering getting down to it and really concentrating on sleep when I suddenly got sick and had to get up. He's so very tired that he fell asleep again while I was in the bathroom, and I just couldn't wake him again. It's too cruel.

But it's kind of neat being the only one awake in the house. Ranger is sleeping on the sofa behind me, Willow is upstairs sleeping on Bruder's bed, and I don't have to worry about taking them outside. The a-n won't be bugging me, and I'm catching up on FB and my flist without the guilt of "burning daylight". I might even do some writing. So long as the house doesn't get much colder, it'll be a fun night. Well, for another 3 hours. Then everyone else will be up again. Until then, I'm keeping the Netflix very, very quiet.
little_tristan: (Firefly River I Can Kill)

What Is Your Battle Cry?

Prowling amidst the steppes, brandishing a bladed baseball bat, cometh Little_tristan! And she gives a booming roar:

"You in some shit now, muhfuh! I shall paint the town a sanguine shade of doom!"

Find out!
Enter username:
Are you a girl, or a guy ?

created by beatings : powered by monkeys

little_tristan: (Kitten Glowing Kitten is Glowing)
Things have sort of come to a head with the arch-nemesis. We had a bit of a dog-related blow-up a couple of days ago (sorry you were there for that, [livejournal.com profile] catyah), and he hasn't spoken to me since. The quiet has been kind of nice but it's also given me time to think. With a little help from my boys, who are very good at shifting my POV. Sometimes I hate that. This is one of those times.

I'm starting to get what senility actually means. In three words: He. Can't. Learn. It's really that simple. When The NY Times online logged him off, as it does every couple weeks, he had me come and log him back in. Only he doesn't ask for that. He says it's not working right and he can't get it to do anything. I've explained the log in concept maybe twenty times, but to him it's a great technological mystery. And it always will be. In fact, this time he said he'd never seen that screen before and didn't know what it meant. He said he'd have to try and learn it some day. When I showed him the card next to the keyboard with the user name and password written on it in his own handwriting, he didn't recognize it. He had no idea what it was. I told him to forget it and logged him in.

He's also relapsed from leaving the soap in the kitchen where I can reach it. At some point in his past, he developed the habit of putting it behind the faucet, and after a couple of weeks of leaving it beside the sink, he just switched back. Presumably because the memory of my shouting at him about it only lasted that long.

So this is where we are. He isn't going to change. He isn't doing this because he's stubborn or mean or trying to piss me off. He just can't learn any new or different ways of behaving. Which means I have to. I'm the only one here who can change, and if I don't, I'll spend the rest of his life in a rage. Which, believe me, isn't fun. And, though this admittedly concerns me a little less, it's probably not fun for him, either. It's probably very confusing and maybe a little scary, having everyone around him be angry all the time and not understanding why.

I don't know exactly what's going to happen--how I'll adapt to this mental paradigm shift--but things are going to be more peaceful from now on. Now that I've fully accepted my part in all this, and the boys understand the source of the trouble (my failure to grasp the true situation up til now), I think we'll be able to work together to make things better for everyone.

Although I'll probably get some books on senile dementia. Best to stay ahead of these things.
little_tristan: (Possum)
I just went out with the dogs for the first time today, after sending them out on their own a couple times, and the first thing they ran to was previously unnoticed half-grown opossum on the lawn. Hoping that it was playing possum, I went to check it out.
Gross stuff behind the cut )
little_tristan: (Kitten Simon's Cat)
I've been suspecting for a couple of weeks that there was something wrong with my kidney, but it wasn't that bad and--I know this is stupid and normally I'm the first to harass and berate people who do it, but--I really didn't want to know. I've just been on information/responsibility overload for so long now, if it's not a legal obligation or something I can fix at home in a day, I just have to put it off. So the logistics of scheduling an appointment, making sure Herr's available to drive (not at work, not overwhelmed with other things, usw), was just too much.

Plus, I'm scared. Mom's kidneys failed so fast right out of nowhere, but not quite fast enough for her to go on dialysis or anything, and then suddenly she was gone and we never quite knew why. And I only have the one, and I'd never get approved by UNOS because of the whole MD thing, and my closest relatives are cousins of varying degrees of removal (Sister is so not a surgical candidate), so a big part of me just didn't want to know. Not while I have so many other things to worry about, like the estate closing in 5 days, and the deal with the storage unit, and the fact that I hear Mom's voice now, pretty much all the time, and she says the nicest things and I just can't stand it.

Wait. *brisk head shake* Okay, enough of that.

But I was clearly sick yesterday, and Herr was home, so off we went to see the wizard. Who totally solved one problem right off the bat: the matter of the medication I ran out of a week ago yesterday and couldn't get refilled. Turns out he approved it on MONDAY and the pharmacy was just dicking me around all week. "No, we're still waiting to hear back." "I'll leave them another message." "We've faxed two requests already." But no. He showed me right on the office computer that they faxed it over ON MONDAY. And then his nurse called them and yelled.:) So, in case you all were wondering, yes, I was off my meds this past week.

He gave me an antibiotic and a flu shot, and took a bunch of blood for possibly unnecessary tests just to make me feel better. When he sends the little card next week that says my kidney's functioning normally, it'll be a huge weight off my mind. And if it isn't, which he said might be the case, it's probably because, hello, it is infected at the moment. I already had an appointment for the 16th for my annual med check, so if the blood work doesn't look right now, we can redo it then. I totally don't mind. And I'll have the comfort during that two week wait of knowing that he didn't expect it to be perfect anyway.

As always, after these stupid scares, I'm drinking lots of water and already feeling much better. And I only had to get up to pee once during the night. Which was awesome, because I went about 20 times during the day (so much ow) and was sort of afraid that going to bed at all would be pointless. But Herr wasn't as tired as usual and we got to talk for a while and it was actually pretty nice.
little_tristan: (Kindle)
Mary Fisher lives in the High Tower by the sea. She's blond and rich and tiny and beautiful and she gets everything she wants. Or everything she thinks she wants. When she decides she wants Robert "Bobbo" Patchett, she gets him. But Bobbo comes with strings attached, and Mary is in over her head almost from the moment they meet.

Ruth Patchett is an unusual woman. Nearly six feet tall, broad of shoulder and thick of--well--everything, she's nobody's idea of physical perfection. Least of all her own. Ruth has no illusions about herself, though. All of her illusions are reserved for her husband, whom she believes loves her. She knows he sleeps with other women, Bobbo thinks honesty is the most important thing so he tells her whenever he falls for someone new, but he always comes home to her and she thinks that matters. It doesn't.

Bobbo, an avaricious philanderer with an adding machine for a heart, thinks he can have whatever he wants and no one will get hurt. He believes in logic, but only his own. Logically, if he tells Ruth he's seeing another woman, he was honest and that makes it okay. She has no right to be hurt because he wasn't in love when they married. But she was. If he ever knew that, he didn't care then and he doesn't now. Not now that he has Mary Fisher on the side. His life is perfect, with Ruth and the children at home in the suburbs making him look like the perfect family man and Mary in the converted light house, writing her romance novels and being the perfect mistress.

Until Bobbo pushes Ruth too far. His logical honesty doesn't extend to his parents, and when she stands up to him in front of them, revealing his affairs and her own unhappiness, he snaps and walks out on her. It looks like his victory, taking all the money, giving her a pittance for an allowance and leaving her with the kids, but he makes a fatal mistake. On the way out the door, he tells her she's not a woman at all--she's a She Devil. And in that concept Ruth finally finds her power.

A She Devil doesn't have to be honest. She doesn't have to care about people's feelings, or even their lives. She can have and do whatever she wants, because she is a devil. And with that new knowledge firmly in mind, Ruth begins to systematically dismantle both Mary and Bobbo's lives. Along the way, she takes down some secretaries, a few of Bobbo's clients, and guides a similarly misfit nurse into a life of lesbianism and adoptive motherhood. And then she makes medical history with a series of cosmetic surgeries that have never been done before and that she probably shouldn't have been able to survive.

This is not a happy book, yet it makes me happy to read it. It's not a funny book, but it makes me laugh. Ruth isn't a sympathetic character--in fact, she scares the hell out of me--but I love her and want the best for her. Some of her choices seem questionable at best and an affront to God and nature at worst (and her worst is pretty bad), but it seems to give her satisfaction, if not actual happiness. I don't think she can ever really be happy, because she is a She Devil and devils aren't a happy race, but she does get what she wants. And, unlike the unfortunate Mary Fisher who is probably the only real victim in the story (except maybe Ruth's children), she's totally on top of the situation. Maybe it's her height, but one gets the idea that Ruth, after she discovers her inner devil, is never in over her head again.
little_tristan: (Remmington Steele Sleeping)
Bruder didn't feel at all better yesterday. He did scarf down three times the recommended dose of meclizine (my fault--I should have known he couldn't read the box) and that stopped the vomiting, but he still couldn't walk without holding onto my chair. Around eleven, I started trying to get him in with an ear/nose/throat doctor who might be able to fix it (a guy from work had his head vibrated by a specialist and said it fixed it within seconds), but no one was available. Our doctor said he needed to go to the ER, but he wouldn't go alone and getting wheelchair transport with no notice is impossible in this town. The cripple bus was scheduled too tight and the only cab company to have a lift van suddenly doesn't anymore. I guess the assumption is that sick cripples take ambulances and leave their chairs at home, and sick ambulators don't really need them along. Anyway, the meclizine finally kicked in good around noon so he drove us himself, with me watching for traffic so he didn't have to turn his head.
This is where it gets good )
little_tristan: (BBT Sheldon WTF)
But she called last night to say she still hadn't found office space. She has an office, it's just on the second floor of an extremely old historic building, much most of the professionals downtown. I'm about to give up on the whole thing, at least with her. I wanted to go to her specifically because one of my cousins does and seems to like her. But from the few phones calls we've had, I'm starting to wonder if she might be an idiot. I'm not too good with idiots.

It's little things, really. Like when we first discussed office space, she asked if I'd be taking the city bus and I said no. It has to be walking distance from my house (defined as Walgreens downtown and McDonald's uptown), and she said okay. Then she called back with a place about half a mile past Walgreens. I said that was too far for a regular thing, and she said she assumed I'd be taking the bus. She seemed rather put out with me for not telling her I wouldn't. (So far as I know, I'm still not allowed.)

After that I didn't hear from her for a while. Turns out she was sick. In every subsequent phone call, she talks a lot about how sick she was. She's also told me all about why she specialized in grief counseling and all the terrible things that have happened to her this year. I don't get to say much, but maybe that's because I'm not as skilled at interrupting. Whatever it is, I'm not sure I want to pay $100 a week to listen to her problems. (Any need I might have to pay huge amounts of money to other people while doing the work myself is amply filled by estate management, thank you very much.)

But the probable deal-breaker here is that she knows a few things about me, or should, because I've mentioned them several times, and isn't taking them into account. One is that we get up very early. I keep having to tell her this when she asks if I'm "up and dressed" in time for ten and eleven o'clock appointments. I've also explained that I have to be quietly at home by 3:30 because the boys don't know about this and I don't want them asking where I was if they beat me home. When they find out, I don't want to have lied about anything. I've also said that I don't even want phone calls about it after that time because someone might be in the room. So when I say she called last night, I mean last night. It was after eight and Herr and I had been asleep for well over an hour. I couldn't answer, I had to send it to voicemail to stop the ringing, and then lay there with the phone in my hand to stop the voicemail alert, too. (We use an alarm on the phone to wake us up in the morning, so turning the ringer off isn't an option. My cell is the home line, and about 4 other devices all in one. It's everything to us and it's never off.) Herr didn't ask who it was, yet, but he was pretty pissed. And I kind of am, too. Even if I hadn't explained two or three times about the whole in bed by 6:30 thing, since when did professionals call people at home after eight pm? Or am I just a complete dinosaur?
little_tristan: (Possum)
I just tried to take the dogs out and we hit a roadblock in the form of a hissing, biting baby possum on the patio. I got through all right, but Ray and Willow were way more interested in the small marsupial than they were in peeing on the lawn. Willow, being a puppy, very helpfully peed when it hissed at her, so she's good for a while.

It might be a good idea to block up the cat hole, though.
little_tristan: (Emergency! Johnny facepalm)
I'm not qualified to say for sure, but if the answer is really "yank a crippled lesbian out of her wheelchair and drag her around on the ground", then that's it. I'm getting a new god.
little_tristan: (BBT Sheldon WTF)
As I go about the task of settling my mother's estate, I'm surprised by how easy it is to do some things. The things that matter, accessing her money and getting her minivan out of my driveway, are suitably difficult. But turning off her cable and phone services, not to mention canceling her renter's insurance, are almost too easy. I call an 800 number, say I'm EB's daughter and that she's died, and they're all about helping me. Sometimes I need an account number, which I could easily get by stealing her mail (don't even ask how I got her mail forwarded--suffice to say ANYONE can do it), and that's it. I had to send more paperwork to TV Guide to change my name when I got married.

It's scary how easy it is to cancel out someone's life. I want to believe that practical jokers wouldn't call up Verizon and lie about a dead mother for the sake of a prank, but if they wanted to, they totally could. Don't spread it around.

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