BRRRIIIINGGGGGGG!
BRRRIIIINGGGGGGG!
BRRRIIIINGGGGGGG!
CALL FROM “V….[ETC ETC ETC]
Oh, hey!!! Turns OUT
it’s from my pal VickyC! She wants to go out for brunch…lunch…whatever it is!
Yahoo! Now I have less than an hour to get off my duff, wash up, and get dressed.
The heck with that noise: I’m drinkin’ the rest of this coffee, come what may! 😀 😀 😀
And how convenient: I need a new lawyer, my beloved guy having retired. And she DOES know a good one, I believe. I hope…she was hiring my guy, but I think she needed someone who had a slightly different specialty.
Well! We shall see in an hour or so.
Must review the piles of legalistic paper and be sure my will and other paperwork remain set up to cover my son, with the least possible degree of hassle, for when I croak over.
*****
Aaahhhhh SHEEE-UT!
No, we won’t see any such thing. Turns out my son has made a goddamn appointment with the goddamn Mayo Clinic…on SUNDAY MORNING!!!!!!!
This is not the first time those idiots have done this.
It’s a hour’s drive out there, one-way.
That means if I have choir: cancel choir.
If I have anything else to do: cancel that.
Get in the car and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and… Find a place to park in their maze of an underground parking lot. Ride upstairs and wait and wait and wait and…GODDAMMIT!
Just what I wanna do on a Sunday morning. Choir or no choir.
****
And now here we are in one of their draped rooms, waiting for…Gawd only knows what new torture. Presumably something entailing a generous jabbing of needles.
How do I hate this place? Let me count the ways.
One nice thing about it, I guess: if you croak over, you don’t regret it so uch…it would be a bit of a relief.
1:54 p.m.
“Morning,” eh?
Well, it’s comin’ on to two in the afternoon. We’ve been here for HOURS. I’m still lashed up to a needle and fukkin’ tubes and…HOW can I say how much I hate this?
Yeah, I do recognize and understand how amazing our medical system is and how astonishing all the stuff we can do is and…boyoboyoboy… And how much I hate this stuff.
Cruising the Internet. Come across a notice of my nephew’s demise. Poor guy. He never was…well…quite right. Short a few IQ points, from the git-go. Just…really sad.
This was the grandson of the woman who became my stepsister when my father married her mother…
2:15 in the fukkin’ afternoon…
Tied down to a couch in the Mayo with a damned needle in my arm for…how long? I’ve lost track of the time. Feels like fukkin’ hours, though. Son is yelling at me..I can’t open my mouth without pi$$ing him off.
One
Bitch
of a
Day
* * *
And now we’re on the way home. My poor son’s mood is not improved by our escape. He’s yelling at me. I just want to get home, get in the house, and shut the door!
And maybe, with any luck, find something to eat. Without having to hike to the grocery store.
Just get yourself settled into the sack.