Thursday, June 30, 2011

It Ain't Easy Being Me

I am having a terrible horrible no-good very bad day.
First a guy came to discuss remodeling stuff and he found mold at the base of the bay window in the front.   He said the house was basically a dam for all the water heading for the creek and we must level the hill in the front yard and build a retaining wall.  Then he found termites.
    Then I had to go to the dentist, (since we finally found one, and we haven't been since last February.)  Before I left home, I remembered to take my antibiotics, so I wouldn't die when they did the cleaning. (I used to ignore that pill-taking instruction until a guy I know who has a prolapsed valve like I do and he spent a year in the hospital trying not to die.) The pills are so big that they stuck in my esophagus and I forgot my water and the only thing I could find in the car as I sped down the freeway was a gold foil-wrapped chocolate coin to eat to try to push the pills on down.  Who eats chocolate on their way to the dentist, I'd like to know.  It didn't work.  The pills were still giving me a lot of grief.
    When it was time to turn off the freeway all I could remember of the directions was to take the Park Marina off-ramp.  I did so and pulled over to see if I had remembered to bring the map that Richard had so carefully drawn for me.  I had forgotten it.  He was at school at his Part Time Job even though the school is still closed for Christmas break, but they are working on the bathrooms and God forbid they do something without him to boss them around.  I looked for the school phone number.
    He has these little business cards that say he's the boss of the world, mayor of Whitmore, president of the Men's General Store Coffee Club, and Superintendent of the three room school district,  They are literally all over the place.  They are on every surface in our house, garage, and automobiles. Could I find one in my time of need?
    I called Rob.  He said he'd look up the dentist's address for me and the calm lady could direct me there .  Unfortunately I couldn't remember the guy's name.  He looked up the school number and gave it to me, I called Richard, who rolled his eyes and shook his head.  I did not need to see him to know this.  My esophagus is, by now, on fire and I'm feeling a bit nauseated.  My anxiety level is such that I am wishing I had taken Xanex instead.
    THEN, and here's the good part, the dentist apparently needs a new boat or something  because the report on my teeth is so dreadful that they aren't even going to clean them.  NOOOO, they are going to rotor rooter them.  You know the part where they stab you with that sharp stick all over your gums and say numbers to their nurse?  Well, I got a bunch of fours, which isn't good and then I got a NINE on one of my bridges.
    This is not fair.  I floss.  I have one of those Sonicare torture instruments.
    I go back there tomorrow for the first of many visits.  I'm thinking two Xanexs.  I can remember when I wouldn't take any pills that made me dizzy.  Now I check the bottle to make sure it has that little picture of the swerving car on it.
OK, Who's driving me?

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