See…this kinda thing is THE reason I do NOT wanna live in an old-folkerie, elbow-to-elbow with my fellow senile humans, taken care of by folks who can’t get a better job anywhere else:
Apparently, WonderCleaningLady unplugged the microwave, which resides in the garage.
Unplugged it…WHY???? Gaddamm it.
This a.m., I go out there to heat some potatoes for breakfast, and find the damn thing doesn’t work.
Moment of panic: hooooleeee sh!t!!! Do I have to run out and buy a new micro today? And then tote it home or have it delivered…and then get it set up and working right?
AAAUUUUGH!
Well…I finally figured out that WCL must have pulled the plug and then never plugged it back in. Okay. Problem fixed.
But…goddammit! What IS the matter with people? If you’re going to sabotage something in the course of doing some chore, f’rcrapsake UNsabotage it before you wander off!
grrrrrr grrrrrr grrrrrr grrrrrr grrrrrr
My problem is, I just don’t get along all that well with other humans. I have next to zero patience with Humanity, dammit!
And THAT is why I don’t want to spend the last months or years of my life locked up in an institution with a bunch of other old buzzards.
* * * * *
Argha. It’s after 7 a.m. Before it starts to get hot, I need to get off my duff and walk up to the stores on Main Drag North by way of buying a few more cans of dog food for Ruby, snabbing some more fresh berries and melon, and roping in some bread and bacon. Blech! Just what I wanna do, the first crack off the bat in the morning.
Well: the second: Ruby and I have already circumnavigated the ‘Hood.
* * * * *
One thing I need to do — well, plan to do more than need, actually — is to hop on the lightrail train and ride down to 19th and Glendale, where I can visit and explore the dreaded Beatitudes old-folkerie.
That’s the place where my son would like to foist me. The place where, thankyouverymuch, I do NOT want to live out the last months or years of my life.
My father consigned himself to one of those places. It was called Orangewood. And it was a pleasant enough place. It’s just that…well…it ain’t home, folks. It’s like living in a motel.
And no. No, I do NOT like motel living. No, I do NOT want to spend the final slab of my life in a prison for old folks, eating bad food turned out of cardboard and plastic packages onto steam tables.
Ugh, ugh, and ugh. Not to say UGHHHH!
The Beatitudes, in addition to multi-story structures filled with motel-like rooms, also has free-standing, single-story patio homes. These might be tolerable, primarily because they do provide a little space between you and the neighbor.
Whether these little castles are reserved for married couples or whether they’d let an old bat and her little dog occupy one, I dunno. Pretty quick, though, I intend to ask.
oooohhhhh gawd.
The horror!
The HORROR of having to move into one of those warehouses for old folks!! I just do NOT want to live like that.
Ohhhhhh well… It’s after 8 a.m. I’d better get a-hiking if I’m gonna get up to the grocery store before the morning gets unnavigably hot. Blech!
And so…AWWWAAAAAAAYYYYY!