This simple post is for those people who like to tell me it’s impossible to have 100% humidity and no rain.
(courtesy of the weather channel. also, that weather advisory? patches of thick fog, the pea soup type which we get sometimes when the above happens)
I got up this morning at 6:30am so I could shower and eat and head out to catch the 8am bus downtown. I was supposed to see my therapist at 9:30am, and that bus runs only once every hour. The steering failed on the bus not even a mile from my apartment complex. We were all moaning and groaning – most everyone on the bus was headed either to school or work. I called the clinic and left a message for my therapist, after we knew for sure. Bus broken down, transfer on the way, won’t make it to transit center for connection, won’t be there until after ten. I fully expected someone to call me back, but I should have realized that this was this clinic I was dealing with.
I walked into the clinic around 10:15, I guess it was. My therapist just happened to be in the waiting room calling another patient into the back. She looked startled to see me. I said, “Didn’t you get my message?” She looked even more confused. She went on; she didn’t have time to sort it out. I went up to the window and told the receptionist what had happened. Again, I asked, “Didn’t you get my message? I called at 8:10am and left a message with your answering service.” I might as well been talking to the wall.
My therapist’s schedule for today was booked solid, and she didn’t have an opening until September 30th. I’ve not seen her since the beginning of July. I swear if she wasn’t so wonderful and hadn’t helped me so much, I’d just switch over to UK Psychiatry. Am thinking about it anyway, once I’m sure I have medical financial aid again. I get so stressed out every time I go to this particular clinic. They’re so poorly organized it’s pathetic. The people out front don’t know what the therapists are doing and none of them know what administration is doing and vice versa.
I had to run to Wal-Mart real quick on the way home – as much as one can run to Wal-Mart real quick when one is dependent on the bus. But I managed to get off one bus, run in, get what I needed, and run back out in time to get the next bus. This bus was heading downtown, but as hot as it was, I didn’t care.
I ended up not getting home until around 2pm. I dropped off the rent check at the office, came in and told Preston I loved him, told the cat I was laying down, and went back to bed. I didn’t resurface again until after 6 o’clock.
And I’m still tired and still aggravated.
In other news, I have the laundry sorted and ready to go, so I can get up and go straight to the laundry room in the morning.
Writers lead such glamorous lives! What fun!
I want to explain this tweet:
See, here’s the thing.
I’m not sure why, but it all started when I got a cellphone four years ago. It’s like certain people think that because I have a cellphone that they can call me or text me any time they want. Honestly? That kind of behavior makes me less inclined to answer calls or text from those people.
Number one. I’m agoraphobic. This makes me less inclined to want to hang out on any kind of telephone – cell or wired.
Number two. Even as a teenager, I never understood the desire or need to talk on the telephone for hours on end. Why?
Number three. I have better, more important things to do with my life. Usually spending time with Preston, resting, writing, or doing housework (or shopping).
The biggest thing? Number three. Especially if I’ve explicitly stated somewhere (usually Twitter) At the beginning of June, for example, I stated both on my blog and on Twitter that I was going out of town, that I was going to be selling books at a fair in Harlan County, that on the way home, I was stopping to spend a day with my dad in Corbin.
You know what happened? My cellphone rang off the hook. I got text messages out the ear. I was pissed. I’d be trying to talk to people and sell books, and my cellphone would ring, and I’d have to look at people and say, “I’m so sorry.” But I wouldn’t answer – because that’s one of the exact wrong times to answer any call. I tweeted on my way to Corbin that I was on my way to visit my dad, and during the visit, I got umpty calls and texts. We hadn’t seen each other in almost sixteen years. An uninterrupted visit would have been wonderful.
What the hell is wrong with people??
And right now, as my tweet posted above clearly states, I’m getting ready to go do some homemaking. I’ll be vacuuming, washing floors, scrubbing tubs and toilets, dusting, etc, etc. I won’t be able to answer the phone.
And after I get finished with my chores, I’m going to the pool. And after I come home, I’m going to get some reading and some editing done.
Me saying, “I’m unavailable” isn’t an invitation for my phone to start ringing and texts to start pouring in. Why people think that, I have no fucking clue. But it’s rude.
So don’t call me. I’m busy!
eta: btw ftr, i use a third party site that feeds my blog posts (ie, what i post here) to twitter. another third party site feeds my twitter posts to facebook. so, whatever i post here or on twitter eventually does make its way to facebook.
Randall wrote at The Cauldron a bit ago:
If “never affect others without their permission” is a good moral rule, it ought to apply to holding a door open for someone without asking if they want you to without regard to whether one opens that door by using ones hands or by “wiggling one’s nose.”
… which immediately turned my mind to one of my biggest pet peeves. Holding doors open for people.
When I was pregnant with Tayler and trying to finagle a stroller full of Thomas and shopping it was bad enough, but when I was trying to tote two small boys, purses, diaper bags, and shopping, it got worse. Even when I’ve been out alone, whether I’ve had my arms full or not, I can’t name the number of times that both men and women have let doors slam into my face – even Preston’s guilty!
Me, I go out of my way to hold doors open for people – especially if it’s a woman struggling with a stroller and shopping – because I’ve been there myself. I know what it’s like to struggle a door open only to get stuck in it not even halfway through and have people look at me as if I’ve sprouted two heads – and not offer to come help!
I know what it’s like to have my arms full and have a heavy door fall back into my face, or gods forbid smash my fingers because I’ve tried to grab it (I don’t do that anymore). I can’t name the times I thought someone appeared to be moving toward the whole holding a door open for me only to have the door or the side of it smash into me. Ow.
Now, I’m a vindictive sort of person – especially if something or someone finds me in just the right mood or emotional state. Once, after having had a day of this, the next time I went out, I paid it forward. Yeah, not very nice and not even to the same people who did it to me, but hey. I’m a firm believer in what comes around goes around – and sometimes I’m the person who brings it. Did what I did help solve anything? Probably not. Did what I did make me feel better? You better believe it!
And yes, for anyone who’s wondering, I’ve done this to Preston, too, when he “forgets”. Let a door slam into his face once, and he remembers quick enough.
I met a man, a patient’s son, when I worked at the nursing home in Richmond in the Spring of ’94. He held a door for me while I was on my way out go to home for the day. I thanked him profusely. He told me that as a child he’d learned the hard way to hold doors; his mother taught him right. See, he said that as soon as he was big enough to walk and open doors, any time he and his mother were anywhere together, even if it was at home, if he went through a door and didn’t hold it open it for her, he wasn’t allowed to go through it. He had to go back and wait for her on the other side of it.
Works for me.
So yeah. Anytime someone does hold a door for me, man or woman, I thank them, whether my arms are full or not. It’s like when someone actually takes the time to count change back at the store (which 99% of cashiers don’t now), I say thank you. (and most of the time, I’m telling the cashier to have a good evening before hey have a chance or remember to tell me.)
Whatever happened to common curtesy??