Things that happened today

He: "Can I speak to the person who handles your phone account?"
Me: "No"
He: "Are you the person who hanldes the account?"
Me: "No"
Then I hung up because I had to pick up another phone line. This is a working office after all.

Stay tuned for how I answer tomorrow. Because there's going to be a tomorrow. Someone from some phone company calls every day. I've tried being polite . It doesn't work. I even tried Jerry Seinfeld to no avail. Because it's an office phone, I couldn't do Chris Rock: "He dead."
I'll try the monosyllabic route.

You are currently using 0 MB (0%) of your 7024 MB.

Or so it says on my gmail account. That's because the spammers haven't found it yet and filled it with their shitty offerings. Just once I'd like to reply to one of those idiots in such a way as to fill up their mail box. Too bad that I'm pathetically ignorant about doing such a thing.

Still, all is right with world. No complaints here. I'll be back tomorrow, and try writing a few more lines...

A Good Night's Sleep

Last night I slept a full eight hours. One cannot underestimate the benefits of a full night's sleep. It was my bladder that finally woke me up. A quick trip to the bathroom at quarter to seven and I never looked back. It's not that I feel particularly rested today, because I don't. It's just that I have been waking up at half four or half something once or twice a night since God-know's-when. This goes into my sleep bank and should help me toward this weekend's activities in San Francisco.
Just now I've returned from a walk to the bank - all 1.2 miles in what felt like 97F . A quick check on KCRA.com weather site shows it was actually 87F. It doesn't matter, my dogs are still on fire and my lips parched!
I'm supposed to be doing this 3 mile trek around Land's End in SF. Probably not. And I can't blame DH either. Oh well, it will probably be freezing cold and blustery there anyway.
In case you haven't noticed, I'm actively avoiding the subject of my father's death.
And so it goes...

Colon Blow

“Colon Blow,” a prerequisite for a colonoscopy, a necessary evil when one reaches or passes the half-century mark. I was prepared to suck up the day of starvation and drink a gallon of the foul-tasting stuff, and endure the ensuing violation at the doctor’s office. After all I did lose 4 lbs. And I don’t care what age you are, 4 lbs is 4 lbs.
What I wasn’t prepared for was the fierce abdominal aches after the mini-operation. I thought that the doc had somehow blasted through my colon, but no, I had developed an ulcer.
And so it goes, hardly a decent healthy day for me since January 1, 2008. I’m now being treated for an H Pylori-induced ulcer. Fortunately, the doc handed over the meds, satisfied that this Dr. Mom was not a hypochondriac, I didn’t have to do a blood test for old HP. Apparently, there was a notation in my file from years back that the little bugger was a regular inhabitant of my own stomach or maybe duodenum.
The meds consist of two antibiotics, one acid reducer and Zantac. What a delightful cocktail. I’m now on week three of four and my mouth tastes only of metal. Doc tells me that I that I have to go on Prilosec for one full month after the cocktail is done. Oh, and did I mention, that yes, I got a yeast infection.? Oh joy! Thank God for flagicil or whatever it’s called. The inventor of this one-pill-therapy deserves a gold medal. I well remember the 7 days of sticking a gooey white mess up my vajayjay. Yeugh!
And so it goes. Today is Good Friday. Life could be a hell of a lot worse!

Dr. Mom

One child calls from the Pacific to tell me about a Dr. Sade who tried to pry hardened ear wax from her ear without first administering an anesthetic. I was imagining him, in his turn-of-the-century (20th) office holding her down on a bench with his right knee. Fortunately, she had the wherewithal to brush his hand away before he either punctured her ear drum or caused her excruciating pain. Needless to say, the ear incident isn’t quite over yet. And now she's gone off to Vietnam where we'll have no contact with her for two weeks. Two whole weeks! The other late night phone call came from the Atlantic side. Child claims she is dying from the flu, in a hotel room with ne'er a Nurse Nightingale in sight. It's past midnight there and she has to bribe the doorman to go to the nearest Walgreens in search of various cold remedies. her voice is weak and sickly enough to make my stomach turn. I know she will survive if she keeps the fever down and if she takes fluids. She doesn't always take my advice nor does she bother to call me back when she is feeling better. Ah, the price one pays for this not so medical degree!

Calgon, take me away...

No, really, take me away. I'm sitting here looking at someone's negative tax returns, realising that I'll need to do more work for this client, when a root canal would be easier. Easier for both of us. She lives on the other side of the country and doesn't actually keep my emails so that I'll have to explain all this, all over again in months to come. Annoying, to say the least.

Then, I'll answer the phone and tell them that HRH cannot take their call right now, but will return their call if they give a name and a phone number. Apparently, that is not something they want to share. I am going to contact the phone company, find out where they live and pay them a visit. Not!

Nor am I psychic. Sometimes It's hard to contain the sarcasm. It's hard to keep from telling the callers that no, the crysatl ball is kinda cloudy on Tuesdays, so, no, I will not be able to tell them to the minute when HRH will be available. Now, if they just give aname and a number...

Like Hell

So, my bones ache down into their very core. Two days ago I spent less than three hours helping a friend pack her books and some othe stuff. I don't remember lifting a lot of boxes, but my muscles feel as if they had a work out. I bet if that doctor on Oprah got a hold of me, he'd say I had the body of a 70-year old. Actually, it would probably be closer to 80 seeing as my friend's sister was the one who actually lifted all the boxes I packed to store them in the garage. I remember advising her that one was particularly heavy - it was full of hard backs - and she said it weighed nothing compared to what she herself had packed earlier. She whizzed past me carrying box after box from bedroom to garage. This woman is 68 years old, and a smoker.
Today, I walked to the mailbox, the far one, near the post office, in an affort to resume my daily walking habit. I feel like hell.