If I don't understand them.
I swear this is going to make my head explode.
I was writing my previous post in the office. The husband had gone to the bathroom... oops... was away from his desk when someone knocked sharply on the office door. Three rapid sharp knocks. it took me by surprise since I hadn't heard anyone come up the steps, nor did the guy in the next office open his door. Again I would have heard it, it has a squeak.
I didn't think any more of it till the husband came back and asked why I had knocked on the guy next door's door. I hadn't, I told him, and the knock was on our door. It was only the three of us in the office, I checked the cars in the lot and the downstairs main door is always locked. So all i can guess is it is just the voices but WHAT DOES IT MEAN??? Something somewhere is trying to tell me something. I need a psychic to tell me what this all means because I can't figure it out for myself.
Insert exploding head here.
Any clue? Any guess? Any psychics out there wanting to give it a go?
WHAT DOES THIS ALL MEAN?
oH AND I"M NOT IMAGINING THINGS because the guy in the next office heard the knocks as well but no sound of someone coming and going and since the building has been around since 18something or other, the stairs creek and groan which means no one can creep up on you.
So now it's late and the husband has gone home and I'll sit here for a bit hoping that something will take advantage of my aloneness and tell me something.
Maybe I should triple my prozac.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Still Hanging In
I don't mean to be maudlin but this death sentence of Rocco's is with me every breathing moment. Waiting for the end is horrible. I feel like some wretched vulture waiting to pick his bones. I try to act as if nothing is amiss. We play the chicken jerky game where the jerky gets thrown and he has to find it, only now, I have to break the jerky in smallish pieces or he'll choke. I realised that if I tap my nose, he starts to use his nose yo find something he may have missed. He's had all the turkey he can eat and his own plate of egg nog (non alcoholic) Ham, pie and even whipped cream. The husband took Rocco for a walk by the river and as Michael and Rocco headed up the hill from the river, Michael lost his footing and went down on his knees and Rocco, off leash, came running so that Michael could use him as a support as he pushed himself up.
I want to believe that the vet was wrong that he'll get well but I can feel the lumps under the skin. He's also uncomfortable in his usual sleeping positions but he has adjusted.
My father died of a heart attack after his legs were amputated. My mother died in her sleep. I have never had to live with anyone who have a death sentence. I don't know what to expect. I don't know how to act. People without animals don't understand. I don't understand. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to act? I've doubled up my prozac but that isn't helping. I feel as if I am dying right alongside him.
I'll get through this, somehow, only it make take sometime and I may be moaning and whining till then. Just hang in there with me.
I want to believe that the vet was wrong that he'll get well but I can feel the lumps under the skin. He's also uncomfortable in his usual sleeping positions but he has adjusted.
My father died of a heart attack after his legs were amputated. My mother died in her sleep. I have never had to live with anyone who have a death sentence. I don't know what to expect. I don't know how to act. People without animals don't understand. I don't understand. What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to act? I've doubled up my prozac but that isn't helping. I feel as if I am dying right alongside him.
I'll get through this, somehow, only it make take sometime and I may be moaning and whining till then. Just hang in there with me.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
So now I know
Since summer, my life has been one oddz bodkinz after another. First it was a variety of winged things that seemed to assume that they were my new best friends and, recently, the whole angels 11:11 thing.
So now I know.
They were just trying to prepare me to lose Rocco.
Oh how it hurts to write those words. Rocco the funny looking puppy whom I did NOT want. Rocco the knucklehead that has done a variety of things to himself from chewing on his toe nails till he couldn't walk, to sliding under a fence togo play with a friend and slicing open his side, that got infected and required him wearing a t-shirt for months. His favorice was myold yellow one with the v neck. Then he got hit by a car, well ass bumped actually but it taught him to stay in the yard. And then there was the night of the endless pukes where I ran out of paper and cloth towel trying to wipe up his throw up.
The worst part of that was trying to convince Rocco that he didn't have to clean it himself.
Which all brings us to yesterday and that word.... Lumphoma.
We have a chinese vet, with a thick accent. I understand him and I half suspected what was coming. (I looked it up) but I didn't expect the prognosis of a week or two. The minute the vet looked at Rocco, he knew and the poor man just kept apologising and apologising. He brought out his vet books for me to read but I knew. If the man could have fixed the dog, he would have.
So Rocco is gong to die soon.
IT ISN'T FAIR!!!!
He's only four years old and smart as a whip. He's taught us his language and was patient with us when we were the Knuckleheads who didn't understand him. He just got to the part where he understands that he has to let the cats finish their meals before he can clean their plates. If there something edible on a tray, he ask permission to have it, by touching it with his nose and not steal it. I have never known a dog with so many facial expressions.
When he was a puppy we took him to the same vet who remarked upon the funny face that Rocco had. He looked like a clown and pretty much acted like one, till he developed a forehead and a more dog like face. Rocco had been bought by the younger son whose girlfriend pestered the hell out of him to get a puppy, and since it wasn't puppy season there wasn't much to choose from and so the goofy looking puppy was chosen.
But looks aside, Rocco only wanted to make you laugh and did some of the wackiest things. When he was a puppy and I'd babysit him in the back yard, he liked to get on my lap when I was sitting on a certain chair. the next summer came around, I was on the chair and he suddenly decided he wanted to be on my lap, the launched himself onto my lap only to fall off because he had gotten too big for laps. But the look on his face was priceless. So instead of sitting on my lap, he went to splash in his baby pool, drenching himself and everything one and thing around him.
He liked sitting in the backyard swing with me as well and it took a couple of mishaps before he realised that he needed a human sitting in the swing to hold it steady while he go on. And once on, he would sit beside me like a person, occasionaly giving me a lick as if I would forget that he was there.
He loves musical toys, especially something with the chicken dance and whenever he got new toy he's turn it on and run around the yard with the song of the moment playing and the humans laughing.
That's part of what is so sad. He has such a joy in him. A love that I have never encountered before. He greets every member of the family as if the best thing in his day is seeing us come home. He gives kisses on demand and sometimes when you don't ask. I was a mess yesterday, falling apart and sobbing and my dear big boy licked my tears away. I need him now, the keyboard is getting hard to see.
But I won't cry, at least not now, there is more to say.
Rocco, as a puppy, loved visiting my craft room. Only he took something out of the room each tiome he visited. I finally started closing my door when I went into the room because one night I spotted a trail of chunky glitter in the hallway and in the middle of the glitter, covered in the stuff was that goofy dog grinning at me like he painted the Mona Lisa. And this year, during a bad thunderstorm he actually got on my lap, while I was on my chair in the craft room and somehow managed to remain there till the storm was over. Usually Rocco stand over me, like he's a bridge, so I can rub his chest and tell him what a good boy he is. We even moved a big wooden desk under the front window where he can sit and watch the world go round and so he's always the first to see you coming home. Each of us have our own greeting. You can tell who's comeing home by the bark.It's going to be so hard coming home once he's gone.
My Rocco. My baby. My buddy. My puppy. I tell him that I don't like big dog and isn't he lucky to be a puppy. I want my puppy.
So. The angels have come to escort him home. That, if anything should announce what a good boy he's been. And these next weeks with the death sentence over his head is going to be hard fro us but Rocco, I AM GOING TO SPOIL HIM ROTYRN!
BTW we have told him that he can go whenevr he's ready and that we will, eventually, be alright. As for now... myheart is broken.
So now I know.
They were just trying to prepare me to lose Rocco.
Oh how it hurts to write those words. Rocco the funny looking puppy whom I did NOT want. Rocco the knucklehead that has done a variety of things to himself from chewing on his toe nails till he couldn't walk, to sliding under a fence togo play with a friend and slicing open his side, that got infected and required him wearing a t-shirt for months. His favorice was myold yellow one with the v neck. Then he got hit by a car, well ass bumped actually but it taught him to stay in the yard. And then there was the night of the endless pukes where I ran out of paper and cloth towel trying to wipe up his throw up.
The worst part of that was trying to convince Rocco that he didn't have to clean it himself.
Which all brings us to yesterday and that word.... Lumphoma.
We have a chinese vet, with a thick accent. I understand him and I half suspected what was coming. (I looked it up) but I didn't expect the prognosis of a week or two. The minute the vet looked at Rocco, he knew and the poor man just kept apologising and apologising. He brought out his vet books for me to read but I knew. If the man could have fixed the dog, he would have.
So Rocco is gong to die soon.
IT ISN'T FAIR!!!!
He's only four years old and smart as a whip. He's taught us his language and was patient with us when we were the Knuckleheads who didn't understand him. He just got to the part where he understands that he has to let the cats finish their meals before he can clean their plates. If there something edible on a tray, he ask permission to have it, by touching it with his nose and not steal it. I have never known a dog with so many facial expressions.
When he was a puppy we took him to the same vet who remarked upon the funny face that Rocco had. He looked like a clown and pretty much acted like one, till he developed a forehead and a more dog like face. Rocco had been bought by the younger son whose girlfriend pestered the hell out of him to get a puppy, and since it wasn't puppy season there wasn't much to choose from and so the goofy looking puppy was chosen.
But looks aside, Rocco only wanted to make you laugh and did some of the wackiest things. When he was a puppy and I'd babysit him in the back yard, he liked to get on my lap when I was sitting on a certain chair. the next summer came around, I was on the chair and he suddenly decided he wanted to be on my lap, the launched himself onto my lap only to fall off because he had gotten too big for laps. But the look on his face was priceless. So instead of sitting on my lap, he went to splash in his baby pool, drenching himself and everything one and thing around him.
He liked sitting in the backyard swing with me as well and it took a couple of mishaps before he realised that he needed a human sitting in the swing to hold it steady while he go on. And once on, he would sit beside me like a person, occasionaly giving me a lick as if I would forget that he was there.
He loves musical toys, especially something with the chicken dance and whenever he got new toy he's turn it on and run around the yard with the song of the moment playing and the humans laughing.
That's part of what is so sad. He has such a joy in him. A love that I have never encountered before. He greets every member of the family as if the best thing in his day is seeing us come home. He gives kisses on demand and sometimes when you don't ask. I was a mess yesterday, falling apart and sobbing and my dear big boy licked my tears away. I need him now, the keyboard is getting hard to see.
But I won't cry, at least not now, there is more to say.
Rocco, as a puppy, loved visiting my craft room. Only he took something out of the room each tiome he visited. I finally started closing my door when I went into the room because one night I spotted a trail of chunky glitter in the hallway and in the middle of the glitter, covered in the stuff was that goofy dog grinning at me like he painted the Mona Lisa. And this year, during a bad thunderstorm he actually got on my lap, while I was on my chair in the craft room and somehow managed to remain there till the storm was over. Usually Rocco stand over me, like he's a bridge, so I can rub his chest and tell him what a good boy he is. We even moved a big wooden desk under the front window where he can sit and watch the world go round and so he's always the first to see you coming home. Each of us have our own greeting. You can tell who's comeing home by the bark.It's going to be so hard coming home once he's gone.
My Rocco. My baby. My buddy. My puppy. I tell him that I don't like big dog and isn't he lucky to be a puppy. I want my puppy.
So. The angels have come to escort him home. That, if anything should announce what a good boy he's been. And these next weeks with the death sentence over his head is going to be hard fro us but Rocco, I AM GOING TO SPOIL HIM ROTYRN!
BTW we have told him that he can go whenevr he's ready and that we will, eventually, be alright. As for now... myheart is broken.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
PTUI! PTUI! PTUI!
The USBs stopped working on the back of my lap top. I took it to Office Depot. I was told it would take two to three weeks and would cost a total of $299.99. A total of $299.99. A week after we took it in we got a call that it was ready, went to pick it up to find that they were JUST sending it in then because they needed to wait for a box???????!!!!!huh?
Now they want $250 more and won't give me a clear answer as to if I decline it do I get my money back. Got some kid on the phone who obviously did not know what was going on... or even what day it was and who claimed she would call me back. I swear to god I want to spit or strangle someone or something.
Apparently to fix the usb they have to replace the motherboard so why didn't computer geek guy tell me that while he was looking at the innards. I even had the back off the comptuer and the screw in a container when I gave it to them. What kind of tech doesn't know you need a motherboard when your USB stops functioning.
I think I have a fight on my hands and just don't know if I'm up to it.
I've been computerless at home for more than two weeks and I HATE it.
I should have figured things wouldn't have gone smoothly. DAmn
Now they want $250 more and won't give me a clear answer as to if I decline it do I get my money back. Got some kid on the phone who obviously did not know what was going on... or even what day it was and who claimed she would call me back. I swear to god I want to spit or strangle someone or something.
Apparently to fix the usb they have to replace the motherboard so why didn't computer geek guy tell me that while he was looking at the innards. I even had the back off the comptuer and the screw in a container when I gave it to them. What kind of tech doesn't know you need a motherboard when your USB stops functioning.
I think I have a fight on my hands and just don't know if I'm up to it.
I've been computerless at home for more than two weeks and I HATE it.
I should have figured things wouldn't have gone smoothly. DAmn
Monday, November 15, 2010
Better start getting that padded cell ready
Last night I decided to call it quits and go to bed early.
Really early.
Like 4PM early.
So there I was, snuggled under my electric blanket, probably snoring away (if the husband can be believed when, suddenly, I was wide awake, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling.
There was an odd rectangle of light crossing the ceiling. A perfect rectangle with straight sharp edges and not at all soft and whispy, the way light usually looks. I stared at the rectangle for a moment, wondering how the light could be so straight, till I noticed that something else was in that light. Moving along in that light. Sliding across the ceiling.
An aside. I wear a carved moonstone pendant in the shape of an angel. The body is shaped somewhat like a butterfly's body but the wings arch up and around it, cradling the body shape.
This was the shape in the light. Not only was it in the light but it was brighter than, intensely brighter than the rectangle of light. It moved across the ceiling till it reached the opposite wall and it was all dark again in an instant.
You may think it could have been headlights but I've been in the house 28 years and NEVER saw a light like this one. Now what do I file this under? Winged things or perhaps 11:11?
I still don't know what all this is trying to tell me. I feel as if I'm getting an answer to a question I haven't even formed. Maybe I'm just thick and need something to slap me upside the head. I know this must mean SOMETHING, this can't be all random.
Just a few minutes ago, in the office, the husband comes in from the other room to tell me he heard a mumbled conversation downstairs despite the fact, that there is no one else in the building! He looked slightly rattled. He knows about the voices but never heard them before. So what does this all mean? i suppose I will just have to wait until it plays out and I finally realise what this all means.
As if all of that wasn't confounding enough, now I find myself embarrassed that this is happening to me and wondering if I am worthy of all of this celestial attention. I mean, who am I? I'm no Mother Theresa, I'm not even a particularly good person. Just an ordinary run of the mill kind of person. So why me? Yet another question to be answered.
Really early.
Like 4PM early.
So there I was, snuggled under my electric blanket, probably snoring away (if the husband can be believed when, suddenly, I was wide awake, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling.
There was an odd rectangle of light crossing the ceiling. A perfect rectangle with straight sharp edges and not at all soft and whispy, the way light usually looks. I stared at the rectangle for a moment, wondering how the light could be so straight, till I noticed that something else was in that light. Moving along in that light. Sliding across the ceiling.
An aside. I wear a carved moonstone pendant in the shape of an angel. The body is shaped somewhat like a butterfly's body but the wings arch up and around it, cradling the body shape.
This was the shape in the light. Not only was it in the light but it was brighter than, intensely brighter than the rectangle of light. It moved across the ceiling till it reached the opposite wall and it was all dark again in an instant.
You may think it could have been headlights but I've been in the house 28 years and NEVER saw a light like this one. Now what do I file this under? Winged things or perhaps 11:11?
I still don't know what all this is trying to tell me. I feel as if I'm getting an answer to a question I haven't even formed. Maybe I'm just thick and need something to slap me upside the head. I know this must mean SOMETHING, this can't be all random.
Just a few minutes ago, in the office, the husband comes in from the other room to tell me he heard a mumbled conversation downstairs despite the fact, that there is no one else in the building! He looked slightly rattled. He knows about the voices but never heard them before. So what does this all mean? i suppose I will just have to wait until it plays out and I finally realise what this all means.
As if all of that wasn't confounding enough, now I find myself embarrassed that this is happening to me and wondering if I am worthy of all of this celestial attention. I mean, who am I? I'm no Mother Theresa, I'm not even a particularly good person. Just an ordinary run of the mill kind of person. So why me? Yet another question to be answered.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
IWord Mumbles
I didn't know that the printed word could be mumbled. I'm not talking about intentional font morphing or when some of the titles to my earlier blogs showed up in farsi.
With my winged things and the 11:11 going on, I joined an email group. Now I thought it was going to be agroup of 11:11ers getting together and talking about their 11's. Instead it's posts that are channeled THROUGH people and end up making me want to bang my head on the desk repeatedly. I read them. I really do. I concentrate hard but I have no freakin clue what they are trying to say. And I'm good at deciphering written mumbles. When I worked at the library the head of circulation would send out an email and you could tell when people were reading their because you would hear a "What?" Or "wha?" and, sometimes a "WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" I would have to read the email a number of time to get to what I thought she was trying to say. I had gotten so good at it that no one bothered reading their emails, only waited for me to tell them what it was. This same head of circulation sent out chapters of the new circ manuals for certain people to read and tell her if the processes worked the way the manual said. And she was the HEAD of circulation. You'd think she'd know. I was one of the people to get a chapter, I always got a chapter or two, and this one time I get the chapter on Checking in Materials. CHECKING in materials EXCEPT and I know you knew this was coming... Every place in the manual where it was supposed to say CHECK IN, it read CHICKEN. Such as the bookdrop chicken, chicken from other branches and chicken from out of the system. Here a chicken, there a chicken every where a chicken chicken.
When I pointed out the error she blamed it on spell check. HUH? WHA? My spell check asks me before it corrects something, that is when I bother to use it, so I could only assume that she had a rowdy spell check that wanted to take over the library in a mad plan to conquer the WORLD!
At least chickens were funny but this 11:11 group email... Even super chicken detector me just couldn't figure it out. And I even speak pig and dog, some cat and a pinch of goat but cannot make out the 11:11ers. Maybe if they were on an ark....
So as youcan see, I have pulled myself together, stopped the pity party and am poking fun at someone else. Back to normal.
With my winged things and the 11:11 going on, I joined an email group. Now I thought it was going to be agroup of 11:11ers getting together and talking about their 11's. Instead it's posts that are channeled THROUGH people and end up making me want to bang my head on the desk repeatedly. I read them. I really do. I concentrate hard but I have no freakin clue what they are trying to say. And I'm good at deciphering written mumbles. When I worked at the library the head of circulation would send out an email and you could tell when people were reading their because you would hear a "What?" Or "wha?" and, sometimes a "WAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!" I would have to read the email a number of time to get to what I thought she was trying to say. I had gotten so good at it that no one bothered reading their emails, only waited for me to tell them what it was. This same head of circulation sent out chapters of the new circ manuals for certain people to read and tell her if the processes worked the way the manual said. And she was the HEAD of circulation. You'd think she'd know. I was one of the people to get a chapter, I always got a chapter or two, and this one time I get the chapter on Checking in Materials. CHECKING in materials EXCEPT and I know you knew this was coming... Every place in the manual where it was supposed to say CHECK IN, it read CHICKEN. Such as the bookdrop chicken, chicken from other branches and chicken from out of the system. Here a chicken, there a chicken every where a chicken chicken.
When I pointed out the error she blamed it on spell check. HUH? WHA? My spell check asks me before it corrects something, that is when I bother to use it, so I could only assume that she had a rowdy spell check that wanted to take over the library in a mad plan to conquer the WORLD!
At least chickens were funny but this 11:11 group email... Even super chicken detector me just couldn't figure it out. And I even speak pig and dog, some cat and a pinch of goat but cannot make out the 11:11ers. Maybe if they were on an ark....
So as youcan see, I have pulled myself together, stopped the pity party and am poking fun at someone else. Back to normal.
Trying not to...
run screaming into the night.
Warning: This won't be light and frivolous. It will be pissing and moaning, however.
I am trying my best to hold onto my sanity. Sometimes I think that insanity is the way to go. Insanity to the point where you live in your own little world and the real world never intrudes.
Thanks to whomever put a freeze on foreclosure auctions our business is nearing collapse. We are getting NO new clients, there are still some foreclosures being filed but hardly any. No clients mean no new money and Christmas is coming. I thought we were going to have Christmas money this year but now, who knows. For once, I actually had a list of things that I wanted for Christmas which is a change from other years. Of course in past years there is no reason to make up a list if there is no Christmas.There really are no words to describe nothing on Christmas morning.
So why am I sharing my dirty laundry here, on a blog that anyone could read? It's simple. I have no one to talk to. No one at all. Yes I am married but the man doesn't listen. When i try to get his attention at work I get a dirty look, he throws down his pen, makes a show of turning to face me and barks "WHAT?". Well then, the words stick in my throat, that is if they even escape my whirling brain and I stutter and stammer and try so heard to get it all out before he finishes the sentence for me. The only problem with that is he never finishes it correctly and then I need to struggle with telling him all that I wanted to tell in the first place and by now, his toe is tapping and his face wears that "Oh god give me patience" look. So I only talk when it is absolutely necessary while he talks all day long. Every thought that passes through is head is voiced aloud while I remain gagged.
He's finally broken me. I had put up a good fight for some time but now I'm too weary to fight any longer.
I usually can find something funny in any situation, my bank robbery story, my childbirth tale and the rampaging pig can be hysterical. I've also lost my ability to find funny and I miss it. Instead I'm sad and scared.
What a pitiful lump I am. I think I shall fold mu tent now and steal quietly away.
Warning: This won't be light and frivolous. It will be pissing and moaning, however.
I am trying my best to hold onto my sanity. Sometimes I think that insanity is the way to go. Insanity to the point where you live in your own little world and the real world never intrudes.
Thanks to whomever put a freeze on foreclosure auctions our business is nearing collapse. We are getting NO new clients, there are still some foreclosures being filed but hardly any. No clients mean no new money and Christmas is coming. I thought we were going to have Christmas money this year but now, who knows. For once, I actually had a list of things that I wanted for Christmas which is a change from other years. Of course in past years there is no reason to make up a list if there is no Christmas.There really are no words to describe nothing on Christmas morning.
So why am I sharing my dirty laundry here, on a blog that anyone could read? It's simple. I have no one to talk to. No one at all. Yes I am married but the man doesn't listen. When i try to get his attention at work I get a dirty look, he throws down his pen, makes a show of turning to face me and barks "WHAT?". Well then, the words stick in my throat, that is if they even escape my whirling brain and I stutter and stammer and try so heard to get it all out before he finishes the sentence for me. The only problem with that is he never finishes it correctly and then I need to struggle with telling him all that I wanted to tell in the first place and by now, his toe is tapping and his face wears that "Oh god give me patience" look. So I only talk when it is absolutely necessary while he talks all day long. Every thought that passes through is head is voiced aloud while I remain gagged.
He's finally broken me. I had put up a good fight for some time but now I'm too weary to fight any longer.
I usually can find something funny in any situation, my bank robbery story, my childbirth tale and the rampaging pig can be hysterical. I've also lost my ability to find funny and I miss it. Instead I'm sad and scared.
What a pitiful lump I am. I think I shall fold mu tent now and steal quietly away.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Something I never thought I'd hear again
In an effort to make certain that we don't lose the house to foreclosure, the husband has decided to take out one of those old Fart reverse mortgage. That is if our first and second mortgages will accept short sales. With the climate of today's mortgage market, they just might.
Now, most days I feel as if I am older than dirt (thank you fibro myalgia). I've been married for far longer than I was single and remember such things as records, black and white TV's and no air conditioning, which meant that you couldn't buy Tastykakes peanut butter tandy takes in the summer because they would spoil in the heat. We had a client the other day who was BORN the year we were married. So far, however I have managed to miss most of the old fart pitfalls such as getting a man's haircut and wearing polyester pants with a shirt tucked in making it impossible for people to tell if I am make or female, standing in the middle of an aisle in a store with my mouth half open and such a blank look on my face that passerbys wonder if I had died in that spot and just forgotten to fall down not to mention CART LEANING! You've seen those people who practically lay across the handle and baby seat of their shopping cart as the inch along taking the aisle down the middle and only stopping when something else in the aisle prevents you from going around them. And here we thought Old Farts were clueless.
Back to the reverse mortgage. Mortgage guy came to fill out paperwork which took WAAAAAYYYYYYYY too long and required too much bull shitting on the husband's part and I had to sign a form that stated that Michael was taking out the reverse mortgage on his own because.... wait for it.... wait for it... I was TOO YOUNG! I'm guessing I'll never hear that again, so I'm savoring it while it lasts. ahhhhhhhhhh.
Now dag nabbit, I need me a cart to lean on.
Now, most days I feel as if I am older than dirt (thank you fibro myalgia). I've been married for far longer than I was single and remember such things as records, black and white TV's and no air conditioning, which meant that you couldn't buy Tastykakes peanut butter tandy takes in the summer because they would spoil in the heat. We had a client the other day who was BORN the year we were married. So far, however I have managed to miss most of the old fart pitfalls such as getting a man's haircut and wearing polyester pants with a shirt tucked in making it impossible for people to tell if I am make or female, standing in the middle of an aisle in a store with my mouth half open and such a blank look on my face that passerbys wonder if I had died in that spot and just forgotten to fall down not to mention CART LEANING! You've seen those people who practically lay across the handle and baby seat of their shopping cart as the inch along taking the aisle down the middle and only stopping when something else in the aisle prevents you from going around them. And here we thought Old Farts were clueless.
Back to the reverse mortgage. Mortgage guy came to fill out paperwork which took WAAAAAYYYYYYYY too long and required too much bull shitting on the husband's part and I had to sign a form that stated that Michael was taking out the reverse mortgage on his own because.... wait for it.... wait for it... I was TOO YOUNG! I'm guessing I'll never hear that again, so I'm savoring it while it lasts. ahhhhhhhhhh.
Now dag nabbit, I need me a cart to lean on.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Ohoh
First of all I was obsessed with winged things and now it's this 11:11 thing. The other night there was an avalanche in my craft room at... you got it... 11:11. I don't understand it. I don't know what it means and it is driving me crazy! I'm now starting to get paranoid and am checking the clocks all the time. I hate mysteries without an ending but what if I DO get and ending but don't know that it is the ENDING? I doubt my angels will supply fireworks or neon lights to let me know we have gotten to the end. I just wish I knew. Any clues?
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