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In addition to my utilities bill, which was higher than giraffe’s ears owing to over a week of 100+F/38+C temperatures in June(!), my car registration expired June 30th.  Another $63 bucks I don’t have.  (I could get a ticket for driving with expired registration.  My mom’s a whole lot more worried about it than I am.)  So, I’m squirreling away transcribing, and popping 8-hour acetaminophen like candy.

This transcription outfit I’m working for pays through PayPal and it takes PayPal three to five working days to get my money from their pocket to mine.  I get paid on Mondays, and even if I catch it in PayPal and transfer it before it’s even bounced once, it’s still Thursday or Friday (if I’m lucky) before I can get my little hot hands on it.  Of course, once it gets into my savings account (I’m not about to give PayPal my checking account number!) I can transfer it to my checking account in a matter of minutes, since my bank has internet banking.   I guess I’m spoiled having worked for so many years for companies that do direct deposit straight to my checking account.

Not to put too fine a point on it, this morning I tore off the nail on my left little finger about 1/16th of an inch below the quick (and barked the knuckle on my middle finger in the process).  So now I’ve got an owie on the tip of my CTRL/Shift/1/q/a/z finger.  Fortunately, my keyboard has a very light touch and my pinkie is so short I end up using the flat of the finger and not the tip to press the key.   I’ve already typed 54 minutes today, and I’m calling it quits for the day.

In other news, I got a letter from RB, the lady who managed the duplex I live in, saying she’s no longer going to do it as of July 1.  RB’s managed it for at least 15 years. But the lady she was managing it for died about 7 years ago, and her nephew inherited it.  He lives in another town and is only interested in the rent money getting into his account.  We needed a new roof when I moved in 12 years ago.  She’s tried repeatedly to get one for us.  The carport roof is leaking and ruining the wood.  She’s tried to get that fixed, but he won’t answer her letters or return her phone calls.  Now we’re just supposed to send our rent directly to him.  She gave us the address, and his “last known phone number” — but because he never returns her calls, there’s no way to know if it’s any good.  Unit A’s air conditioner is leaking coolant and needs to be replaced, but he won’t replace it.  The guy’s just supposed to come out and refill it with coolant every week.  The way I feel about it, if something breaks, I’ll pay to have it fixed, and take the cost of it out of the rent, and send him the receipts.

I spent 4th of July afternoon with the folks.  My dad is very frail, almost blind, and is what is called a “marginal ambulator.” He has to have a walker even to stand, never mind walk.   Mom was telling me that dad has fallen several times and she hasn’t been able to get him up by herself.  A couple of times, she’s called one of the neighbors across the street to help her get him up, but the other night, she wasn’t paying attention and when he was coming back from the bathroom, he somehow  ended up on the floor between the couch and another chair.  It was 10 o’clock at night, too late to call one of the neighbors, so she called 9-1-1.  She explained the situation, and the next thing she knew, she had a fire truck as well as EMS ambulance show up.  The ambulance people got him back on his feet and into the bedroom, checked his blood pressure and talked to him to make sure he was still “with it.”  He has had some small strokes, although none affecting his speech or movement so far, and he obviously has mild multi-infarct dementia, but he can understand speech (if you talk loud enough for him to be able to hear it — he’s very hard of hearing) and respond appropriately to it.  His continued mobility is problematic, and the alternative is even more problematic as their house has several doorways that are too narrow for a wheelchair, notably both bathroom doors.  As callous as it seems, I find myself wishing that one morning here soon, he just won’t wake up.  I would rather see him go like that than to just waste away in a bed in some nursing home somewhere.  He’ll be 91 this year.

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