Sometimes I forget...

that MS is a killer.  Then I go to the calling hours of a man only three years my senior, who only in the last few years has re-connected with his grown sons and met his grandchildren, and I remember.

I have been so lucky that MS has only lightly touched me, and overall has not diminished my quality of life.  But the flip side of that coin is that I have a responsibility to be mindful of my luck.  I don't always know what is right, but I know that I can always try harder.

So as I wish healing to the family of a man too young to die, I resolve once more to think about who I am and how I treat others.

SRK is not nearly as fun as MFK*

But I still need to make a dent in the drifts of paper claiming all the flat surfaces in my house, so I sit here quietly, sorting everything into piles of Shred, Recycle or Keep.

Growing up is severely over-rated.

*MFK

I am mercifully NOT currently perched on Rex's Erection with a water gun in my hand

Mercifully because after three days of "Do this.  No, we don't like this.  Do that.  Ha!  Fooled you--do that, but someplace else" from the miserable troglodytes at Express Scripts, I finally have my Lexapro refill.

Ever since Tuesday, when my nurse practitioner called in a new script to my local grocery store pharmacy, Express Shits has turned down the script twice, not told me until I called them, and then given me directions that turned out also not to work.  Everyone I had face-to-face interactions with was so very nice that I couldn't vent my rage, which just made it harder to cope.

Finally, after a second pharmacy was called and was willing to call the first pharmacy to transfer the prescription (since it had been e-mailed in, not faxed or written on paper) and I'd spent most of my breaks and lunches on hold, I got my Lexapro.  Of course, I had to wait for nearly 45 minutes at the second pharmacy because Express Shits kept asking for more info that they didn't have, but I got it.  I no longer feel like a donkey on the edge, and I am no longer tempted to climb a tower with a Super-Soaker in my hand.

Oh, and stop that, you dirty-minded people, I'm talking about a local landmark. :P

In which your humble correspondent is appalled and distressed

Dear Mr. Mann,

Whilst I understand both your modern need to be inclusive and your desire to keep your readers guessing, the inestimable Mr. S. Holmes would never so mangle the Queen's English as to use a plural pronoun with singular verbs and to do so for several paragraphs.  Frankly, I am shocked at this lapse in an otherwise excellent series.  For shame, sir, for shame.

Very Truly Yours,

Jammies

P.S.  Torturing the language to make it gender-neutral only makes it very clear to the reader that the villain is, in fact, the female character.

Yours, etc.