Finally posted on my Facebook about the struggles I’m having with my grandmother and her Alzheimer’s. She actually not that bad, and I honestly don’t think she’s going to get much worse - probably just her short-term memory will continue to decline. What bothered me was that she called me the wrong name (my birth name) twice last visit. I haven’t been called that since I was 7, and I legally changed it a few years ago. A seemingly small nitpick in the whole grand scheme of Alzheimers’s but it hit me pretty hard. What comments did I get on the post? Among the “I know how you feel” and “Stay strong” comments were a few snarky “Be thankful she still knows who you are!” comments. I AM thankful that she’s not in the bad stages of that horrible disease. Very thankful. I need support and encouragement right now, not snark.
Same with when my vehicle was broken into and my coffee money stolen - well, I can’t say “broken into” because my driver’s side door doesn’t lock and there’s nothing valuable in there anyway so I just don’t bother locking it at all, but the point is that some dirtbag was rooting around in MY vehicle stealing MY money. What comments do I get? That it’s MY FAULT for not locking my doors. MY fault. Really. How about the fault of the punkass jerk who has no respect for other people’s property and security? No, it’s MY fault for leaving $3 in change in my ashtray and my doors unlocked ON MY OWN PROPERTY. No. It’s not my fucking fault and I refuse to feel like it is.
I’m just going to stop talking about stuff in my life. Nobody gives a shit anyway and I really don’t need to be snarked and blamed for how I feel.
I don’t think it was necessarily snark; I am grateful that, while my grandma told everybody we saw yesterday that I was her niece* and she told me about my brother’s visit as if I hadn’t been there**, she did call me by the right name and did know who I was.
she was merely pulling the wrong word from the dictionary
** heck, her daughter has been doing that for decades And grandma’s recounting was accurate except for my absence, whereas my mother’s usually aren’t.
SO, all these fasting blood sugars that say I’ve got gestational diabetes? No sign of them at the hospital consult today. A nice, normal .80 two hours after lunch.
And my finger-prick machine is out of stock at the pharmacie, so I get to miss my first two scheduled monitorings and start before lunch tomorrow. But wait! I have the strips! Just not anything else.
Hospitals and dieticians are so much more fun in a second or third language. I think everyone should try it.
I can’t argue there- they’re good. And kept complementing how well I understood them. But it’s just combining lots of different sorts of stress all at once.
God bless single-payer and socialized medicine, though. At least financing all this isn’t a point of stress.
Is there any logical reason that I must see every county worker in two counties at least three times to get paperwork done to move a mobile home? Permit to move it out of one county? See the ladies on the third floor, who hand me a piece of paper to take to the ground floor, who photocopy the papers I brought with me, stamp something, and send me back to the third floor… And I need something from the county I’m bringing the home into, so lather, rinse, repeat, and then bring stuff back to the first county, go to the top floor, go back to another office on the ground floor, back to the third floor, pay $10.00 (plus about $40 in gas by the time the round trip was made,) and I finally have what I need to move the trailer out of the county…
Similar rigamarole for everything in my home county. I have to get a permit for the (currently non-existent) well and septic tank before I can get the permit to move the trailer, but I can’t get that until I get the paperwork from three other offices, the licenses from the well driller, mobile home mover, and Santa Claus and/or the Easter Bunny. Maybe the Tooth Fairy, too - different offices are giving me conflicting information. And bring photos of the mobile home, which no one will look at, because they want me to post a $500 bond as guaranty that I’m not moving a total shithole of a wreck of a structure in, and they’ll inspect it only after I’ve spent about six large to move it and set it up…
And the guy who I trust and want to move the home for me is insanely backed up because we’ve had monsoons since early June, so I don’t even know whether he’ll be able to do the job, even though I want to just give him my money because I know he’ll do things right and I don’t have to stress over that aspect of things.
I hate people today.
And I haven’t even begun to pack and sort and get rid of crap, because I’m so freaking overwhelmed right now with what must be done.
I just ordered a ticket online and when I was supposed to give my debit card details, I fucked up the address and didn’t see my mistake until it was too late (I forgot to put in my province.) So I called customer service and from what they said to me, I’m not entirely sure if they’ll send me the ticket or if I have to pick the fucking thing up myself. FUCKING HELL.
And it’s a show I really want to see, too. I hope that I can get that fucking ticket somehow, seeing as I (probably???) already paid for it. :mad:
Yes, I don’t know if it’s even paid for.
And of course, it’s one of those goddamn systems that I hate, where when you order online, they give you a TIME LIMIT in which to complete your order. So they were fucking RUSHING me and I didn’t have the motherfucking time to actually FIGURE OUT how to do shit properly.
Oh yeah, and my mother’s going off the rails. Again. My friend will be studying in Toronto, and is having problems finding a place to live. My grandfather’s in the hospital. Various disasters happening in the news. Depressing stuff.
Compared to all that, problems with a ticket seem trivial.
The small octagonal lucite tank sat in the middle of a broad shallow dish. Perhaps…16" across but only 2" deep. Filled with glittery black sand. The lucite tank sat in the middle. The indent below it held a small l.e.d. that had colors that shifted periodically.
Yes, the Betta fish swam around underlit during the reception. It was unique !! Now I have the tank, shallow dish and sand. And no fishy.
Do not buy from this shitty eBay seller. I bought some costume jewelry from them. Half of it fell apart in my hands. I returned a chunk of the items and they are refusing me a refund and lying to eBay about the fact that I sent it back. I know this isn’t high quality stuff but geez it shouldn’t be complete and utter five cent junk. Fucking bastards. I hope they all drop dead. Fucking fraudsters.
Dear cousin: when posing your adorable widdle snowfwakes in their July 4th finery (a.k.a.: new t-shirts), you might want to make sure the entire slogan is visible on at least one of the shirts. It was quite a shock to see a post from you on my newsfeed today featuring both kids clad in shirts that appeared to feature a little American flag sketch with the words “white and cool” underneath it. :smack:
Bugging the shit out of me? You bet! Fungus gnats! I hate those tiny little beasties that get into my kitchen (and house) and pester me non-stop. I’ve got lots of fruit in the house because it’s all in season, and I keep it out of the fridge because I don’t like cold fruit, and now it all has to be in closed containers because of the friggin’ gnats! Get lost, you pests!
Not an immediate help, but I keep a spare pair of cheap earbuds* in my bag, because they never poop out at a convenient time. Well, and because I’m addicted to audiobooks. Even one hour on a bus without a book to listen to and I’d be a neurotic mess.
I grab a couple of Skullcandy Jibs when I find them. $10, and better sound than the Ink’d 'buds, I’d say. I’ve got a pair in my desk drawer, one in my closet that gets tossed in my backpack for trips, and one in my pannier. Oh, and I even have an old iPod as backup, loaded with my current book**.
The Ocean at the End of the Lane, by Neil Gaiman. Read by the author. $18 on iTunes. Thanks for asking.
And grandma’s recounting was accurate except for my absence, whereas my mother’s usually aren’t.
Very cool idea for a centerpiece though.