I want to thank the two lovely friends who commented on the last post, and let everyone know I always reply to comments. There are so few, why not?! I kid, I kid, because I love.
I also want to say don’t worry about me; I am that perfect model of the Kübler-Ross grief thing, although I seem to have flip-flopped anger and depression. But that’s me, doing things bass ackwards. I am well into the anger phase now, and it gives me strength and, dare I say it? Pep. Next stop, bargaining and acceptance!
Another thing to say: As bad as things have been, at least I am not in a hospital watching my father die and dealing with the Hospice people, who I like to call the angels of death. Understand, this is me and my black humor, and it is how I cope with things. I would rather laugh than cry.
And so, I can tell you that this week at work, there was an outbreak of SCABIES, yes, I said SCABIES from the girls’ camp that is here now, and I heard about it secondhand whilst my boss was sitting right across from me in a tiny office the size of my bedroom talking with two other MEN, because why in the world would he tell me, when I use the communal bathroom where my ass has not touched the seat since I started here in November??!! I had to ask the cook for clarification.
I can also let slip that I have started applying for jobs again like a crazy person, and actually had an interview yesterday. However, it was at a non-profit showroom that is set up like a store (they look like a thrift shop but……aren’t. Don’t ask! It’s Florida). There was a homeless encampment on the side of the building — well, two guys with a makeshift home, including TV and rolling chairs. And the woman who interviewed me was a dotty elderly English lady who had advertised for someone who knew Pagemaker and Illustrator et al., to do flyers and also manager their Constant Contact mailing list (something I did at the yarn barn). Instead she started telling me she had all these ideas to do doggie yogurt days because she bought a machine that made doggie yogurt, and the dogs and their owners would come in and it would be a social hub and destination where folks could meet and mingle and I did ask, “What about the cats?” but was told they are different, and maybe there would be a cat scratch off game and damn, that’s sad and that was before a vet I used to see came in to bring her a bottle of wine and I told him I recognized him because he used to look like Mark McGwire, but now he resembled a fat redheaded Brad Pitt and I really want you to picture that and then you can picture me telling this nice but dotty old broad that “It’s not you, it’s me, and I don’t think I’m the right person for the job” but she was offended and all “WHY?!” which is what I got when I tried to extricate myself from the scabies shithole I’m at now, but I felt sorry for my boss who I now actively hate, and I actually sent him an e-mail last week that ended with “See You Next Tuesday!” so you can see how that went though I am at least proud of telling her NO, regardless of how uncomfortable it was.
And then I went to Sonic for a burger, onion rings and cherry limeade and went home to watch old drumming videos on YouTube and read a romance novel set in the Ozark mountains.
I hope you enjoyed my Henry James longest sentence ever, and are at least laughing WITH me, not at me.
Below is a photo of Ringo on my quilt; he demands to lay with me every morning and night now.