Here’s the mistake I made. I got up, fed all 200 animals in here, showered, made coffee, and sat down to write you some sort of riveting tome when I said, “I’ll just check work emails first.”
Every month, I have a task that takes 10 hours. They usually send it to me on Thursday, and I have to return it Monday before noon. OK, that’s doable, right? Except I keep getting all sorts of other work. “OK, but I have to do that 10-hour thing before Monday noon,” I keep saying. “OK, but after this I have got to get started on the 10-hour thing.”
So I checked email and have three more things to do before I can begin the 10-hour thing. So now I’m in a lather of angst and irked.
Anyway, hi. Let me write you before I begin my Quest for 10 Hours That Don’t End Up Being 5 Hours Saturday and 5 Hours Sunday.
Here’s my current situation, by the way. Forest, who I wasn’t even gonna keep, just adores lying between me and the computer. Also, he PATS at the things moving on screen and I am beginning to see how someone could dump this beautiful fluff at the cemetery.
No, I don’t really. He is the silkiest, sweetest kitty ever, and other than his propensity to sit between me and my screen he is nice but not clingy.
Speaking of black, we are expecting a hurricane or the edges of a hurricane or we’re hurricane-adjacent or something. Today when I was opening the 47 blinds, my Google machine was telling me the crap she always tells me: the time, the temp, the high, the low. Then she finished up with, “A hurricane local statement has been issued. Have a nice day.”
She’s never said that before. It’s like when I lived in Seattle and worked on the 34th floor. There was a female voice in the elevator, not that I’m hearing voices. I mean there really was. She’d say, “Floor 34,” for example. We called her Mrs. Otis because it was an Otis elevator.
Anyway I worked in that building for years and all she’d ever say is, “Going up” or “Floor 34” or what have you. One day the elevator just stopped. STOPPED! On its way up.
“Do not be alarmed,” Mrs. Otis said. And see, the fact that she said that alarmed me.
I can’t remember what happened after that. Either I crashed to my death or Mrs. Otis got us out of our situation.
Anyway, I asked Google what she meant by a hurricane local statement has been issued, and can’t she use active rather than passive sentences, and all she did was give me the Wikipedia definition of a hurricane local statement.
But I knew something was up anyway because mornings in my kitchen are usually lovely, light-filled times, and today it was this.
Hello, darkness, my old friend. By the way, I can’t wait till I can replace that light. There’s nothing wrong with that light, per se, other than could that light be less June?
I think I want something like this. But not orange. Why are the stripes orange?
Anyway, I had better go and do all the other smaller tasks before that, you know, 10-hour one. I go to the headache doctor today, the specialist, the same one who gave me those nerve block shots that made me turn green 10 years ago. The same guy who told me I should give up caffeine because I have a delicate brain.
I noticed someone rather attitudinally said in the comments the other day, “I cant believe you haven’t considered giving up caffeine for your migraines.”
Dude. I’ve considered it. For 20 years. I’ve tried maybe 60 times. But thanks for the judgement.
I can’t drink. Migraines. I can’t take antidepressants. Migraines. I can’t take ADD medicine. Migraines. I have no fun things anymore. Pandemic. SO COFFEE IS ALL I GOT, man. It’s all I got. But again, can I thank you for the judgement?
Why do people do that? They KNOW they don’t know a person’s whole story yet people do that every day. “Well, why doesn’t she leave? I don’t feel sorry for her.” That’s what a neighbor just said to me about another neighbor who had the crap beaten out of her. I happen to know she has nowhere else to go because her actual family is even worse than the boyfriend. But okay, judge-y.
Anyway. I’m interested in what the headache specialist has to tell me 10 years later. I stopped going last time because among the things we tried were these nerve block shots in my head and neck. I had to get like 20 of them at once, and we were on maybe shot 9 when out of nowhere they made me really nauseated. I’d been lying face-down on a paper sheet thing and when I raised my head I’d left a sweaty Shroud of Greensboro on said paper and at the time I was super extra phobic of throwing up because it had at that point been 28 years since I had barfed and Peg’s norovirus party that broke m’streak was two years away.
So I never went back.
But now these dang things are a daily occurrence and I can’t even stand it another second.
Further reports as developments warrant.
OK, I’m off.