You shall henceforth be known as:
Woman-at-arms of Triangle Theorems, P. Fusion Weele
You still can't make it with an A-List chickie.
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Yesterday I managed to wash and dry most of the laundry (need to move towels to the dryer and wash random loads today and fold clean clothes)
I still have the dining room table covered with bills. It's not like there's money to cover them. Sigh.
I finished reading Sourcery and started reading Armageddon.
I worked. I read LJ.
Ooh, ooh, I made enchiladas. mmm food.
I spent the day with Tigger because Critter was with Bébé . He woke me up in the morning and asked me if I wanted breakfast in bed. Cheese eggs, yum. He ate oatmeal for breakfast and then went upstairs to play Warcraft and watch Cartoon Cartoon.
I ran errands. Bank, grocery, allergist. When I went to tell Tigger I had three short errands, and that I'd like company, he gave me a big hug. Then he asked if that would hold me. I asked him if that meant he didn't want to go out with me. When he said yes, I asked for another hug.
After I got back, it was time to fix enchiladas. I read Harry Potter to Tigger while I was doing the one-handed bits of the recipe. Once I got to rolling the echiladas, I got Timothy to read his summer-reading book to me. Then rush to dress and pack for work.
Before dinner, I finished double-keying a queue that was name-only, and a mix of nasty and well-behaved handwriting. 895 documents.
After dinner, I double-keyed a queue full of check numbers. Four to five digits, largely consecutive. Double-key allows for type-ahead when the computer is lagging, and checks against the previous entry, so there's less concern for actually looking at the what I've typed. 5100 documents. And, did I mention that i take my dinner break so that after dinner is a shorter time than before dinner?
Still depressed. Numbers give me too much time for thinking with no external input. Number five needs input.
My mom called.
This one was weird. Okay, so it's not weird for my mom to call, but the whole reason for her call was to tell me that the son of a friend of hers had died of a drug overdose. She then went on to talk about the kid (he was 21) and all the trouble he's had with drugs, but how he was the sweetest person you'd want to meet, etc. Okay, I've met the friend once, never met the son. Now, I'm not saying Mom shouldn't call me, or that it was weird that she called me about it.
It was the *way* she called me. She called up, then said something along the lines of "I've got something bad to tell you."
Okay, and so one of the not-why-I'm-depressed-but-good-reasons-t
My dad has prostrate cancer. Mom told me about it, after follow-up tests from a high PSA score confirmed it. He's currently having to make a decision about his treatment, the choices being surgery or two different types of radiation therapy.
And hey, she didn't even start THAT phone call with "I've got something bad to tell you."
So, maybe one could imagine that my mind didn't automagically leap to "death of the son of someone I barely know."
I don't think I've written much here about my brother, the ex-druggie, who had successful treatment for Hep C, who has chronic bronchitis and lots of other health issues?
Nope. It was actually kind of hard to just listen to mom, and not laugh and say "oh, I thought you meant something BAD."
which made me feel very small
The kids are great.