Things to do today and/or tomorrow and/or PDQ: clear the snow around the van so I can get it out; wash hair; deposit checks; get money; pick up packages from post office; go to dance class; fix printer; change kitty litter; buy card for Daughter's Uncle Barry (in cardiac ICU, heart attack shoveling snow yesterday); write letter to Getty; wash dishes; make appointment for taxes; pull tax info together; pay bills.
Barry was married to Daughter's father's sister. They've been divorced for probably 20 years now, ever since shortly after he broke his back in a motorcycle accident, but he's still close to the family. He's been a good father to Daughter's cousin.
When the sister announced, way back when, that she was going to marry him, the family freaked. For some reason, they despised him. (Sorta like the mother despised me when I was to marry her son.)
I always liked him. He has soft eyes, and something gentle around his cheeks and mouth, and he always listens carefully, and you don't get knee-jerk reactions from him. As he grayed, he got a distinguished look, to which the limp only contributed. He never remarried.
He's already had bypass surgery, so this episode does not bode well. I hope he comes out of it ok.
I've got to fix the printer soon because I have to write my first formal letter in several years, to Getty. The old printer died over 18 months ago. I bought a new one, but it doesn't work. The PC does recognize it, and the printer "burps" when I IPL the PC, so they are communicating back and forth, but files just don't seem to get to the printer. The message says it's offline.
So I haven't had a printer. You'd be surprised how much paper I've saved! I make longhand notes of just the info I need instead of printing off whole screens/pages, and that has been working fine.
But now I need to write a letter to Getty to help out "Tall Dark and Handsome" at the Getty station in the village. There's a low spot in the Getty lot, right at the end of the sidewalk near the post office, and in the middle of the low area there's a deep pothole. When it rains, the low area fills with water (nowhere for it to drain), and you can't see the pothole.
So a few days ago I stepped off the sidewalk into the puddle, right into the pothole. My boot filled with water, and I almost tripped. When I went into the building I scolded TD&H, and he expressed frustration, that he had called Getty to ask that it be fixed many times since summer, and they keep putting him off. He gave me the phone number and asked me to call, and to tell them that I had sprained my ankle - "be angry and make it scary".
I pointed out to him that it's not just ankles at risk - if the puddle freezes, then it could cause an accident if a car entering or leaving the lot loses traction. They need to fill in the whole low area.
Well, I am aware that a phone call is not formal notification. If they receive a letter, however, and do not take action, and someone is injured, then that's legal negligence! I'll write the letter, and give TD&H a copy.
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I've had something strange going on emotionally for the past six or seven weeks. I'd burst into tears at the least provocation. Not like just out of the blue - there'd be something particular that got me started.
There was a photo on AOL and Yahoo News that made me cry every time I saw it - the one of the small child accepting a package from a care worker, with the head down, but the eyes looking up. I didn't even have to see it, just think of it.
There was a commercial for tapes of the old Hee-Haw show, and they showed Dolly Parton singing that song with the line "And I yi-yi yi-yi will always love you oo-oo oo-oo", and I'd burst into tears, stuffy nose, the whole bit, every time I heard it, or even thought about it.
Tyne Daly's character on Judging Amy had a heart attack, and I cried. I never do that. It's a character, for Pete's sake!
Somebody mentioned whippets, and I remembered the time Jay and I were visiting my baby sister in Florida, and he and I went to a park by a lake, and there was a little stray whippet there. It was so pretty and friendly (and hungry), and it so obviously wanted to go home with us. Jay wanted to take her, but we were flying back to NY the next day, so there was no way we could get her on the plane with us in so short a time. We discussed several options, but none of them were workable. In the end, we drove away, and the sad little doggie standing in the road in the rearview mirror broke our hearts. Every time I think about how that doggie looked, I cry.
There are tears running down my cheeks right now. I thought it was over and I could write about it, but not yet, I guess.
It isn't depression. It doesn't happen spontaneously, without a trigger. I'm still enjoying things I enjoy, and looking forward to things. The things that get me started don't have anything in common. I don't "sob", it's just quiet tears. I don't know what's going on. It's funny - I'm not sad when I start crying - it's like it's an independent thing - but the crying then makes me sad.
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