flaming squirrels are eating my tongue Gads. There�s just too much. Let�s summarize. Okay. I don�t like the �therapist� at the Dad�s facility. She assumes that Dad is deaf, because she speaks at decibels that rival shop-vacs. She also got right into his face with that voice of hers (which also has that great south-eastern Alabama-type of twang that makes you want to set something on fire. Like her vocal chords) so he spit his eggs at her. Silently, I cheered inside. I did something to my ankle while in Florida. Now it just simply hurts and I can�t point my toes or put weight on my foot when in demi-pointe�. So I hied myself to the podiatrist and I didn�t break anything but I did do some soft-tissue damage, so now I�m wearing a rigid plastic splint- thing which actually seems to cause more discomfort. And since the insurance doesn�t cover it, I had to pay cash for this implement of mild torture. I spent well over two hours at the DES last week, trying to straighten out my unemployment benefits. I thought all was taken care of, yet when I tried to access the �file your weekly claim� on the internet, I was informed that my social security number is not in the system. Guess where I get to go tomorrow? I did, however, get some faboo new reading material from the local used book-and-all-other-media-known-to-man-and-beast store. Like the Dexter book series, a new copy of one of my favorite LaVyrle Spencer romances (to replace the one I dropped into the toilet � don�t ask), and the newer Alanis Morrissette CD. Because I need more angst. I culled my knitting book library. Not only do I have more yarn than any one person needs (yeah, right!) but I also had more patterns than I will ever make. And frankly, I just really like plain socks. Or a simple pattern. With a ribbed cuff. Anything more difficult and you�re really just wanking with tiny needles. I had a faboo lunch today after I went to the used book store. Potato cheese soup, a chicken BLT on toasted sourdough, and chocky pudding. Perhaps not the best choices when considering the Weight Watchers, but we�re talking about chocky pudding. Remember when the pudding cup used to be in a little tin, with a pull-ring top? Did you ever cut your tongue trying to lick out the last bit of the pudding? I never did, but it wasn�t for lack of trying. Mmm. Pudding. Books about serial killers. Not wanking with tiny needles. Yup, life is generally good.
|