Thank you for the comments yesterday.
Andi.....Wil is so much taller than me I doubt we are related. It does sound like we both graduated from the same "fix-it" school. At least you didn't have water shooting up out of the toilet when you turned on the tap. Of course, if it did you would have a bidet.
Hey.....speaking of comments. Can you guys read them all? I need to go to my "dashboard" thing to read the continuations of them. So, can you all do that? There is still so much I don't know about this blog stuff.
And, Karen.....thanks for the nice and very supportive comments. I have been told the people who read this are enjoying it, which is nice.
Last evening I finished the garbage disposal, soon after I prepped some of the salad fixing ingredients for dinner, cranked up the heater, grabbed the "closet room" scale and headed into the bathroom for a shower. I think I should explain some.
See, when Wanda and I first met, Jennifer, her daughter then, our daughter now, had just turned eighteen. An interesting side note I met them both, together, at a comedy club. You could have knocked me over with a blackjack when I discovered they were mommy and kid. More on this later in the month, maybe, if someone reminds me. Jennifer was very close to moving into her own place, for now, she lived at home.
It's now several years later, Wanda and I are married, Jennifer is working at a bank and out on her own. All we had to share our house with were a few kitty cats. We put a cat, well, really a small dog door since a couple of the cats resembled smallish wolverines, into the door from the family room/kitchen to the garage. The cats could go in and out but had all their food and boxes in the garage. They could have that, along with our '51 Chevey, we had the rest of the house.
Our house is s small but we like it that way. We have a nice size yard, front, back and sides. A bath and a half, living room, combo family room/kitchen and three bedrooms. The upkeep is minimal the utilities rather inexpensive and there is a lot less to paint, or fix and repair. Over the years we've set up the front bedroom with modular shelves, hanging rods etc. This room is the "Closet Room." The back, or second bedroom has a nice desk, side table, a leather massage chair and the desk top computer. It is the "Computer Room." The third bedroom is ours, and most of the time also belongs to Steve the Cat and Jill the Cat. The don't really like each other much but the bed is very comfortable.
So, I grabbed the closet room scale and soon was standing on it. Just a few days ago I was around 172, this day the scale read 167. I tried it again, 167. I thought that was pretty damn good and was happy, for about thirty seconds. I figured the weight drop was from two days of not eating much and getting aggravated, a lot. If this was indeed the case I was going to need something new to get stressed about, and soon. No, now that I think about it, this may take off the weight but it's a terrible way to live.
As I'm standing in the shower I remembered the time the hanging string of the luffa (body scrubber sponge like thing) got wrapped around the stud earring I was wearing. Now I realize all I had to do was remove the earring, then, I didn't. I am claustrophobic and obviously "luffa stuck on earring-phobic" because I started to panic. The more I tried to untwist the string the stuck-er it got. I was yelling for Wanda, who didn't hear me. Finally I jumped out of the shower and with towel around my middle and luffa hanging off my left ear started running around what now had become an extra large house yelling for Wanda. She was out in the backyard doing some gardening. When she eventually saw me she said, "Why don't you take the earring off?"
It was a precursor for "why don't you take the shelf out."
I have a doc appointment this Friday morning. Prior to the appointment I need to have some fasting blood work done. This I started after dinner last night. The lab opens at seven in the morning which is so much better than eight, especially when you want , or need, a cup of coffee and food. About an hour into the fast the cat starts looking very tasty. I can't go an hour, how am I going to make it until morning? Then I realized, if I don't do it tonight I have to do it tomorrow night. It's psychologically better to do something that you sort of choose to do as opposed to something you must do. So, I decide to tough it out Tuesday night, and I do.
I had a really bad night. I slept on and off due to my consistent dreams of food and drink. I was attacked by large gooey doughnuts, stuffed pork chops and big buttered baked potato's. Headless fried chickens were chasing me in airports and I couldn't find my car, or keys, or the front door. At five this morning I could see the light around the corner, I was going to make it, I was going to be OK.
I got to the lab at 7:20 this morning. To my delight only one person was sitting in the waiting room. This lab has a stack of numbers at the front window. There are several large signs informing patients of the HIPAA laws. (if you are curious Google it for more info) Privacy is a big issue, so "Take A Number, Please" and the sign in sheet reads, "Please Sign Only Your Arrival Time Take A Number And Have A Seat." I follow these instructions perfectly. I sign in 7:20AM, take number 4 (which is the same number I walked out with six months ago) sit down and open my book. Five minutes later a young lady peaks over the counter and asks for my lab slips.
"Did they tell you that you need to fast for this test?"she asks me. I can't resist, "No they didn't but I knew enough to do it." I have been miserable all night and want a cup of coffee" and I'm thinking I bet they hear that several time a morning. She wanted to know if all my personal information, phone number etc. was the same, then added. "We will let you know when we're ready for you, have a seat, please." I sit back down, across from an older guy, grey hair, balding, with a long pony tail. Just like guys that wear speedos on cruise ships these guys do not have mirrors in the home. I open my book get a half page read when the door opens and I hear:
"WE'RE READY FOR YOU MR. SHULAK".............you gotta love those HIPAA laws.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment