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(*Squeamish Warning: Pictures of Sutured Wound

Got my sutures out Monday morning, and asked her to put another Band-Aid on it until I got home — just until the places where the sutures came out scabbed over.    I took that one off Tuesday evening — had it off about three hours and put another one back on it (which is stuck to itself much better than it is to me) — but more about that later.





Monday was not a good day.   I had to get up at 7 a.m. so I could shower and be at the VA by 8:30 for my appointment, and I had gotten to bed late, so I was already sleep deprived.  After I got my sutures out,  I went by Walmart to get the stuff I needed that Market Street doesn’t stock, and got home about 10 o’clock.  When I got home, the three preschool age kids that live upstairs were running and jumping and bouncing off the walls, and there was all this thumping and bumping. The grey kitty was hiding under the bed because of it, and didn’t come out all day.  The noise stopped briefly around lunch time, and stopped again briefly around supper time, and then they were right back at it.  It sounded like they were jumping off things onto the floor and literally bouncing off the walls.  Of  course, they could also have been tossing furniture around, too.

It went on and on into the evening.  I was sitting at my computer trying to read, and about 11:45 that evening — yes, it was still going on! — there was a loud thump, this loud crash and the sound of breaking glass.  I thought the kitties had knocked something over, so I jumped up and went to see.  The kids upstairs had jarred one of my pictures off the wall!  IMG_1532IMG_1407It was a fairly good sized picture — about 3 feet x 14 inches in size (that really oblong one at the top) — and when it came down, it took three of the pictures beneath it down with it, knocked over a lamp and landed on the floor, shattering the picture glass.  At the time I bought the frame, which was in the 1990s, you could make your own custom frames — they sold several frame styles in packages of 2 pieces the same length.  You bought a package for one dimension and a package for the other dimension, and then put the pieces together.  Then, if you wanted glass, you had to have it cut to order.  Because this picture is an assembled puzzle, I can’t hang it without glass on it, and I can’t get the glass cut for at least a month — till I get paid again.  Fortunately, the glass on the smaller pictures remained intact.  Just the glass on the big picture was broken.  Needless to say, I’m just a little miffed.

The apartment manager’s office had been having trouble getting their phone messages, so I fished out the piece of paper where they had their email address and decided to email them.  I wrote a remarkably civil email, proofread it at the top of my voice and — oddly enough — the noise abruptly stilled.  They’ve been very quiet since.  It was after 3 a.m. before I got to bed.

I was going to work on setting my office to rights Tuesday.  In particular, I need to set my foot pedal up so I can work again, which I can’t do until I get the lath strips cut in half and screwed onto the pegboard, because my foot pedal gets wired to the pegboard so I can type from a reclined position.  However, at 9 a.m., when I got up and took my meds, I felt like a zombie, so I turned right around and got back in bed. I was still half asleep this afternoon at 2 p.m. when my BFF called and asked me if she could bring her laptop over and have me help her apply for some jobs on line.  The dress shop where she had worked for the past 10 years closed at the end of June, so she is now out of a job.  She can’t live on what she gets from Social Security either, so she has to have some kind of a part time job.  Nobody does paper applications anymore.  Everybody wants you to apply on line.

In the first place, my BFF is a dyed in the wool Luddite, and her response to technology is hostile and adversarial.  She has a very low frustration tolerance to begin with, and to top it off, she just doesn’t “get” computers in particular, or technology in general.  But, there are things on line she wants to do, like watch movies on Netflix and send emails to people, and I end up doing things for her like setting up her email and getting her Kindle to work with her wireless network, setting up her computers,  etc.  During the process, as I explain the procedure, she takes copious notes about how you do things, and then either can’t figure out what she meant when she wrote the notes, or else she puts the notes someplace and then can’t find them.  She just can’t seem to grasp the concepts involved.  She tried to set herself up with a Gmail account because she thought that if you wanted to email someone who had a Gmail email address, you had to have a Gmail account, too.  Fortunately, she couldn’t figure out how to do it. She already has an email address through her ISP which provides free email, so she doesn’t need a Gmail account.

I laugh every time I see that commercial, because Beatrice reminds me of a combination of my BFF and my mom.  One of her friends wrote her a letter of recommendation in an email, thinking she could make a document out of it and print it out.  Guess again.  While she was over, I had her email it to me, and I cut and pasted it into a Word document, and printed out some copies for her on her fancy paper.

When I booted up my computer, I notice that my email to the apartment manager had bounced.  Then I noticed I had left a “b” out of the email address.  Fixed that, resent it, it bounced again.  It had just gone 4:30 p.m. so the apartment manager was still in the office.  I caledl her up, confirmed that I did indeed have the right email address and tried to resend the email again.  Won’t go.  She tries sending me an email.  Hers bounces.  I end up reading her my email over the phone.  Judging by the error message, I’ve got an incorrect email setting somewhere.  I’m going to have to call Suddenlink and hash that out with them.  Tomorrow.

One of the things my BFF wanted me to teach her was how to upload her resume to an online application.  She had somebody type up her resume for her, and then when she had copies made at Kinko’s, they emailed her a PDF version of it.  She couldn’t figure out how to get it from the email to the website.  She forwarded the emailed to me, I put the PDF file on a memory stick and saved it to her desktop, but the websites didn’t like that file. They wanted Word or Wordpad type files (.doc, .docx, .rtf, etc.).  I ended up retyping her resume and her references, and then putting those on her desktop for her.  It was about 4 o’clock when she came over and after 9 o’clock when she left.

When my BFF got here, I poured her a glass of tea, and we (and the tea) went back and forth from the living room to my office, and computed and typed, and printed, and filled out on-line applications.  When she is getting ready to go, if she’s had a glass of something, she always takes her glass to the sink (she has lovely manners), so after she left, I went into the kitchen to put it in the dishwasher, and it wasn’t there.  I looked all over the house for that glass.  Couldn’t find it.  Finally I called her and asked her what she did with her glass.  She thought for a moment and then started laughing.  She had brought her laptop over in a big satchel, along with a spiral notebook, and a box of fancy paper that she had had her resume printed out on.  I had loaned her a Tony Hillerman novel and she was reading that while I typed up her resume.  When she had finished her tea, she put the empty glass in her satchel for reasons which aren’t clear to either of us, and then promptly forgot about it.  When she was packing up, she forgot it was in there, and off she went with it!  She’s a sweet lady, and I love her to death, but she’s a bit of a ditz. . .


The culprit plug is behind the vase.

IMG_1420So, after she left, I got back on my computer playing games and blogging, and it occurs to me I haven’t heard the Littermaid in a while, so I thought I better get up and check it in case it’s got a superclump that it can’t clear.  It’s off.  As in, not turned on.  I try turning it on.  Nothing.  I check the cord to make sure it hasn’t been chewed. Nope.  I try turning on the vacuum, which is plugged in to the same extension cord. Nada. So, then I go check to see if the extension cord has somehow become unplugged.  Nope.  Still firmly plugged in, but the clock that’s plugged into the same outlet is off.  Now I check to see if the circuit breaker has been tripped, but it hasn’t.  The plug’s not working.  By now, it’s 1 o’clock in the morning, and I’m frosted (Definition 11) big time. I go hunt down my heavy duty thirty-foot extension cord, hunt down an outlet I can get to (way on the far side of my bedroom), and plug the extension cord into that.  Then I rummage out a pair of latex gloves, clean out the Littermaid, which obviously hasn’t gone through a raking cycle in a while, and empty the receptacle.  That’s when I discover the black one has peed in the crack again, and the plywood box underneath is all wet with kitty pee. (When the last Littermaid, a Mega, died while still under warranty, they were out of the Mega size, which is longer than the regular size, and I had to settle for getting it replaced with the shorter “regular” version.  The problem is that my two male cats are “mega” length — which is why I bought the more expensive Mega in the first place. Duh!) The white one insists on peeing in the corner by the rake, which is on the opposite end of the box from the receptacle and is not the source of this particular problem.  But the black one wants to pee on the end where the receptacle is, which would not be a problem if I had the Mega.  But since I don’t, kitty pee leaks through the crack between the box and the receptacle, runs down the side of the receptacle, and then puddles on the plywood box.  (Fortunately, I gave the box a good coat of paint when I painted it, but it’s about to need to be repainted.)  So here it’s 1:30 at night, I’m wiping cat pee off the plastic receptacle and the top of the plywood box the Littermaid sits on, and being profane, blasphemous and fervently scatological in several languages.  I tore off a sheet of Saran Wrap and taped it to the lid of the plywood box so hopefully that will make cleanup easier next time I dump the receptacle.

Now, I’ve got a big extension cord snaking through my bedroom and out into the hall, and I’ve got to daddysit at 11 o’clock in the morning, and I’ve got to call the apartment manager in the morning to see about getting the plug fixed, . . . and then I have a though.  The plug has these little rectangular button-looking things on it.  I press one.  There’s a click and the clock comes back on.  Oh, snap!  It’s a plug beside a sink and, oddly enough, it’s got a GFI switch in it.  I’ve already pulled loose the extension cord where I had it extensively and thoroughly taped down to the wall and plugged it into the heavy duty extension cord in the bedroom.  Oh, well.  The grey one had been industriously peeling the tape off where I had the extension cord taped to the baseboard, and I had planned to use my electric staple gun and staple it to the woodwork at some point anyway.  Tomorrow.  Afternoon.

But right now, I need to post this, snag a shower and hit the hay.  Sigh.