No Mr. Fixit today. . . nor tomorrow, nor the week after that. Still, my life does not feel like my own. I must leave in a few minutes for a doctor's appointment and there is a yard full of scrap wood that I must somehow figure out how to get rid of. Much of it I will have to saw into smaller pieces. Many have vicious nails I will need to hammer down. Then there is the painting of the raw wood on the just repaired stairs that needs to be done. Mr. Fixit complained more each day about how tired he was, how much his body hurt, of all the things he needed and wanted to do for himself. It took an emotional toll on both of us, but I was the one paying for it. I wrote him another check yesterday at day's end. Somehow, for the amount of money I spent, I ended up with more work than I wish to do.
I am woozy this morning having taken an Advil PM lat night before bed. I can't figure that shit out. Sometimes I take it and it has no effect. Sometimes I take it and can't wake up for half a day. I don't think they have the dosages in those little capsules well regulated. Either that or some crazy factory worker likes to dump fentanyl into the vat on occasion.
I got the fentanyl filled capsule last night. My eyes are slow to communicate with my brain, my brain even slower to communicate with my limbs.
Whatever will the doctor make of that?
I know that many of you are snow-covered in frigid temperatures right now. It is cold here, too. But today the sky will be bright and blue, and if I can shake this drug specter, I will do some strolling perhaps. I need to stroll. I need to get back now to my healthier existence.
I guess I'll have a week of holiday season now. I am not certain I want it. I am scared, actually, of what I now actually face. The tenant has left for the holidays and my constant companion, Mr. Fixit, has as well. After two months of constant chaos and turmoil, the house is suddenly silent. My voice will once again be mute. I will turn my attention inward to that sad, dark void that haunts me. Seeing the joyful holiday faces of others may not be quite the bromide I require. Perhaps I will put a wreath on the front door in a token gesture of goodwill. I'm not sure if I am emotionally capable of a holiday special. "Bad Santa" or "A Very Murray Christmas" may be out of the question. No "Love Actually." There will be no one coming home for Christmas this year.
O.K. I'm becoming morbid already. I am still under the influence of the pharmacology industry. I must prepare foe Dr. Strangefinger now. A quick brace of fresh air may set me straight.
Perhaps I'll make a run to the Home Depot today out of instant nostalgia. Ha! Workers of the World Unite!!!!
ReplyDeleteEmbrace lagom.
I have a holiday party today. No work (and no pay) but supposedly a fantastical catered affair (Salmon or Beef Tenderloin - first appetizer hour) beginning at 1PM.
Just us Covid Negative Office Workers. No significant others ( what my dog can't come? ) or family members ( my mother would be something, I'm sure).
No no. Just us hourly wagers being treated to a Holiday Gala at the several million dollar home of the Practitioner.
I can't wait. Sigh.
If I'm not getting paid - I'd rather stay home and do stuff like pack up gifts to mail. Or lay on the couch and pout while flipping through channels.
I must, however, report.
Here's a little funny tale.
My new boss was born in the U.S.S.R. emigrated to the states in her teens - went to a fancy dental college and then joined one of the armed forces. She's a tough cookie bar. Maybe more peanut brittle.
Anyway. We had some more training on Wednesday. As we gathered around the large conference table in preparation for our Zoom training, the person preparing to give us instruction on the other end of the wire began to take attendance.
Several staff members barely acknowledged the attendance taking when their name was called. I was last on the list. The Practitioner was sitting in front of me. As the Zoom Leader called my name -for some reason I shouted out "Present!" Like a military ops member ready for mission.
The Practitioner's head whipped back to look at me and she gave me a thumbs up and such a prideful look.
How happy she was one of her army members responded so appropriately.
I giggled about it all the way home that day.
I watched "Love Actually" the other night. I watch it all the time.
There is something about probing pain with metaphorical needles. I seem to be a bit of an addict. Maybe I believe in leeching out the feeling. Pick it probe it let the torment bleed out.
Everyone handles their shit their way. Right?
I am anxious for it all to be over. Sadly.
My niece in Florida asked for some vinyl -(Rammstein, Hozier, Heart - what an interesting taste - she's the one studying opera at a uni close to you). I've got a Secret Santa to mail out to a young boy but honestly, I wish I was Somewhere It didn't exist.
At Ras Kutani on the coast of Tanzania where I was offered the Hostess job. The Indian Ocean lapping white sand - a hammock - scrabble (I still have our scrabble scores saved on my phone) monkeys running around the roofs of my open air cabin.
Walking up to the local village to visit the school or the doctor's office - dropping off whatever I've brought in the extra suitcase for them. Having a cold Kilimanjaro with my villager friends.
Yes. That. And hot, sweaty, passionate lovemaking on the side.
Oh shit. I mentioned sex. I shouldn't even be using this lap top. It's absolutely infected. :(
Okies. Hope all is well at your own probing.
I have to put together the gift basket for the Practitioner. I recommended we get some good Russian caviar and make a nice basket of luxury cheeses and some good bubbly. The office manager asked her on the down low if she liked caviar - and apparently her eyes lit up like Putin's do when he's shirtless, bareback on a horse in front of a rushing stream.
x
ReplyDeleteAnother duet request:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPgf_btTFlc