EEEEEEEEEEK! IT'S IN THE HOUSE!

On Thursday I carted two boxes of clothing from our Ward who died from the nursing home to the woman who had cared for him and was going to redistribute the clothing.

On Friday I woke up with teeny-tiny fluid-filled blisters all over both hands and my left arm. I checked WebMD, and in a truly disgusting slideshow about common insect bites, found that scabies bites matched the blisters on my hands. I called my doctor's office, and they squished me into the schedule, and then I had about five hours to worry, fret, and try not to scratch.

After seeing the very nice Dr. H., I was reminded why hypochondriacs should not be allowed to search the internet. Without any hint, she asked if I was a gardener and said I had poison ivy rather than scabies. She wanted to give me some steroids to help my skin heal a little more easily, but since they do such a number on my stomach, we settled on calamine and benadrool.

I spent the rest of the day in a benadrool fog, trying to remember if I'd seen ANY three-leaved plants anywhere in the garden. Yes, I've been weeding the lavender bed like mad, but all I really remembered were nettles and lamium. The lamium can't hurt, and I left the nettles in place until I could get back out with my gloves and long sleeves on.

On Saturday, I was reelling in the hose when I saw several three-leaved plants growing up underneath the hose cart. I'll have to get back out there once I have some more Roundup on hand. I know the traditional method of disposal is to burn the plant, but that's a little too close to the house for me to be lighting fires.

Today, I was hauling all the houseplants off the breezeway and outside, and just barely noticed a three-leaved plant sticking up out of the pot I almost had my face in. Like any good last girl, I screamed and backed away, then sat down and thought. Roundup in my geraniums is NOT an option, fire in my geraniums ditto, but I think if I put on gloves and long sleeves I should be able to dig the whole thing out with a trowel.

But that's a chore for tomorrow. For tonight, I have to shudder and try not to scratch all the imaginary and non-imaginary itches.

Jammies has a knitting lesson

Ahhh, irony, I am your bitch. At lunchtime, Mom and I talked about Boy Bull Moose from the water fitness classes, who is very sweet. I said that as much as I thought he was a nice person, being near him in either of the water classes was like being at Ground Zero in the Bellagio water fountain show. Then I had to explain what the Bellagio is, what they do with their fountain, and that led to me telling her about the guys at Eepy Bird and the Diet Coke & Mentos Bellagio re-enactment.

Mom has offered several times to teach me to knit, but it wasn't until very recently that I had a reason to want to learn. Today, after we'd both eaten lunch, she brought out two knitting needles and yarn that she had cast on for me, and showed me how to knit. Amid many smartass remarks (all from me, of course) I managed to do about 20 stitches on my own. That took about 15 minutes, and I set the knitting on my lap and took a big swig of my Diet Coke. Unfortunately, it was semi-warm and what I got was almost all bubbles, which went up my nose, down my airway, and back out in a spectacular spit-take and one hell of a coughing jag. I also managed to lose control of my bladder, and since I drink water constantly, I wound up coming home early.

Note to self: sip, don't gulp.

Note to everyone else: it's okay to laugh yourself silly over this. I certainly did. However, hurtful comments will be deleted. I'm a delicate flower, you know.

In which I reveal myself as an ungrateful and tactless bitch

First of all, thank you all for the support and concern. I'll be okay. Today was a day to wear all black, goof off and mope at work, and eat more comfort food (kibbie!).

I am going to rant just a little bit here, and please, please don't take the following personally.

If you are one of the friends or colleagues or relatives who told me this was a new beginning, it's too freaking early for that. First, I have to mourn the ending and get all the sadness and anger out of my system. See me in a month or so, okay? I love you, but I can't take cheer-up thoughts or messages right now.

If you are one of the people who said, "Call me when you're ready to talk," I love you, but I will not ever be ready to talk about this. It sucks rabid swamp rats, I'm hurt and furious and miserable, but I will get over it. And when I do, I will want to move on with no post-mortems, no discussions. When I suck it up, I suck it all the way up.

If you are one of the people with worse things going on in your life, thank you for taking the time to be here for me and for not telling me it could be worse. Given what a bunch of my friends are going through right now with life, health, and family issues, I know my troubles are small. I am really honestly grateful that you have taken time to offer consolation to me.

Right now, the tactless, ungrateful bitch needs a bath.

Redshirts

Hey, it was fun.

Two stupid things

Last Wednesday, I went out to get lunch. As I was leaving the parking lot, Maresche's TC pulled out from the parking space beside me and also headed out. Before I pulled out, I took a minute to make sure I had my wallet with me, and then drove out of the parking lot. At the top of the hill, there was a tan van over to one side with its flashers on. I thought it was M'sTC, and pulled up next to the van, leaning over to roll down my passenger-side window and ask if she needed a hand.

A very odd-looking gentleman glared at me, and I straightened up and drove to Zoup. Whoops.

That evening, Mom and I met for our last water-walking class before she left for Texas. Afterwards, I had to get some stuff out of her car. She told me approximately where she was parked, and that everything was in the back seat on the driver's side. It was dark and rainy when class ended, and I headed for my car, started it up and drove up the aisle I thought Mom was parked in. A woman with light-colored hair and a dark sweatshirt came out of the Natatorium, used a remote to unlock a silver Passat and got in. I pulled up behind the Passat, blocking it in, and put on my hazards and put the car in park. I had actually gotten out of my car and had my hand on the driver's side door when a stranger rolled down the driver's window and said "What...?" I apologized profusely, jumped into my car, and went to rows over, where I actually found my mom. I still feel bad for scaring that poor woman, but what are the odds of doing essentially the same stupid thing twice in one day?

Only me...

Who needs coffee?

Really, why bother with two cups of coffee in the morning when you can start your day with a quarter-sized dark brown spider on your white shower curtain, leading to an adrenalin-filled chase with an old Skindecent lotion container?

Eventually, I got the sucker outside and twitched until noon.

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