ibeachalot's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bleh I don't think I'm going to have the strength to move. Not the actual move itself, but the preparation. How on earth am I going to be able to keep this house clean enough for showings, plan for a garage sale and pack all while doing the regular day to day routine around here? I can't see how it's possible. Not unless I sell the children at the garage sale. Today has been one of those days where I've worked since sun-up and have absolutely nothing to show for it except several piles of half-started projects. I've been whipping things from closets and dresser drawers onto the floor in Griffin's room and designating it "garage sale shit". I carried stack after stack of dusty, musty old record albums up from the basement and cleaned them up the best I could. I thought about listing them for sale on ebay, but thought better of the idea. Having to list each song on each album would be too tedious a task. Not to mention how the poor condition of the record sleeves would probably make for a tough time selling them. The records themselves are in good shape, it's the warping, discolored, written on, water stained, cat-scratched covers that make them look like they're in poor condition. I'll put them in the garage sale pile with a 25 cents each tag on the box and see what happens. It's a shame. There are some titles in there that would be worth some major coin had we taken better care of them. I had a frustrating morning at the pharmacy today. Okay, let's rewind to Thursday. I called the pharmacy's automated number to refill Evan's RX for clonidine. There weren't any refills on it, so this would require a call to Dr. Ditz. I went in Friday for some things and decided to check on the prescription. Doctor hadn't returned their calls. Okay, I'll try back. Sunday, we're there again. Again, no call back. I explain to the pharmicist-of-the-moment that Evan desperately needs these pills and that he only has enough to get him through half a day. He fronts me eight pills and encourages me to get aggressive with the doctor. I agreed with him that this is what it takes sometimes. Yesterday, we called Target to see if they had gotten a hold of her yet to approve a refill. They said, "The doctor has refused to refill this prescription." In a panic, we call the doctor's emergency exchange. After waiting on hold on a long distance number for fifteen minutes, we leave a message for Dr. WTF to call us back immediately. She does. Naturally, she has no idea who we are or why we're calling. With a patient load of several thousand, I guess this is inevitable. We explain the situation and she says that she would never deny Evan his medicine. She knows he's doing (for the most part) better with it and sees no reason not to keep refilling it until such time as he no longer needs it. She claims she never got a call from anyone at the pharmacy. Hmmmmm.... She then tells us she would call in the prescription personally and even leave it open-ended so we'd never have to go through this shit again. She agrees she wouldn't need to see Evan again until September when he's established in second grade. Kevin calls Target and reads them the riot act for saying they had called the doctor. This morning, I go to fetch said prescription. It's not there. Does this surprise you? Me either. The lady looks all around and sees nothing. No refill, no call log, no mention made of all the shit I've gone though to get this medication. She calls the doctor and leaves her an urgent message to call back. Doctor calls back and tells the pharmacist in my presence, "I'll refill it this once, but I have to see Evan again before I'll approve any more refills!" (Say it with me now...) WTF??? I give up. The doctor, the pharmacist - all of them are a bunch of fucking quacks. And they put Evan on meds... I wasted 45 minutes on trip number three to the pharmacy. I could have spent that time sitting on my fat ass at this computer. My time is valuable, you know. So now the kids are napping, Evan is due to bound through the door at 200 miles an hour any minute now and I'm so scatterbrained I can't think what to do next. I saw two things yesterday that proved to me that I live in Missour-uhhhh. One was an obit about a lady named Louisiana. Her nickname was Louise or Lou. Weird enough, right? Not nearly as weird as her middle name. Are you ready for this? . . . Are you sure? . . . I swear, her middle name was... PURCHASE!!!! Louisiana Purchase!! I'm left to wonder if she had brothers named Civil War and Boston Tea Party? To top it off, the obit said, "In lieu of flowers, go drink a beer for ol' Lou!" God, I'm surrounded by shitkickers. Theeennnn... On my way to the store yesterday morning, I saw a handmade sign stuck to a signpost. If I didn't know better, I would have thought Jameson made this sign, except Jameson wouldn't have made as many mistakes. Let's see if we can spot the errors, shall we? "LOST CAT! White male tabby PLEASE call if you find her!" Okay, first of all, if a kitty is a tabby, kitty must be striped. Does kitty have white strips on a white body? Or white strips on a white body? Second of all, until she learns his pronouns, he will have no luck finding her cat. Third... call what? "HELLO! I FOUND YOUR CAT! HELLO!" There was no phone number! Any bets on whether this cat took off to find an intelligent owner? Life awaits, gotta run! 3:08pm - 24June03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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