Been There Before

It was late Sunday afternoon when the Mustang pulled into our driveway. At first, I thought it was a contractor for a delivery company, but it turns out it was a young lady whose car had broken down.

Once she realized her car wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, she knocked on our front door and politely let me know. Since the temperature wasn’t much above freezing, I invited her into our home to wait for her tow.

It probably came off cringey instead of empathetic, but I told her about the time the transmission on my first car started acting funny. I was a good half-hour from home, and this was long before cell phones, so I ended up using a nice retired couple’s home phone to call my aunt for advice on what to do.

As I was telling my story, I could tell it wasn’t really having the effect I’d been hoping for, so I stopped rambling, gave her some space by the dining room window where she could watch for the tow truck, and went into the other room to continue folding laundry.

My aunt’s advice to me, once I finally got through to her, had been to accept the quart of transmission fluid the nice couple had offered me, pour it in, then drive home by way of every BP station I could find, using the gas card my stepdad Tom had given me to get another quart of transmission fluid at every stop along the way. I did manage to get to within a mile or so of home before the transmission fluid top-up method stopped working, and I was forced to leave my car at a local (non-BP) gas station and just stick a For Sale sign on the windshield. Eventually, a young man and his dad bought it off of me for $50 with the intention of fixing it up for the demolition derby at the county fair. Since the transmission only ran in reverse at that point, and that’s how they roll at the demo derby, it was a win-win for everyone.

Anyway, I hope that the young lady whose car happened to give up the ghost in our driveway finally got to go smoke with her friends. She certainly deserved some chill time after the weird evening she had, sitting in some Gen-X lady’s dining room waiting for AAA.

Morning Brain Dump

Sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee beside me and a cat draped around my shoulders.

Just got back from having blood drawn in preparation for an endocrinologist appointment later this week. It didn’t take long at all — half an hour, including drive time — but I’m now feeling much more awake than I usually do at this time of day. I suspect it’s the combination of having to drive myself there, being outside (albeit briefly) in the brisk darkness of early morning, and having to interact with other people in person.

As soon as I hit Publish on this quick check-in, it’ll be back to the usual routine of working from home.

A Solo Evening In

On one Friday each month, the karate dojo hosts a Parents’ Night Out. Sometimes it’s a video game night. Sometimes they plan a Pokemon trading party. Sometimes it’s a Ninja Ball tournament. But sometimes — like tonight — it’s a Nerf War, where kids bring their Nerf guns and the dojo supplies a massive amount of standard Nerf bullets.

Connor’s not always interested, especially as he’s now one of the older kids — but he’s always up for a Nerf War.

For the price of our usual “Fun Friday” pizza delivery, Connor gets to hang out at the dojo, shooting his Nerf gun and eating pizza, while I get two and a half hours of “me” time.

As drop-off time approaches, I always daydream about how much I’ll accomplish during those two hours alone. Maybe I’ll do some sewing, or declutter my storage spaces. Maybe I’ll do some weeding, or catch up on all the things I’ve been meaning to blog about. Maybe I’ll do an evening of digital detox — no phone, no laptop, no TV.

That never happens. None of it.

First, what happens is dinner. Sometimes I order out, or sometimes — like tonight — I scare up something simple for myself from the freezer or the pantry. My iPhone keeps me company while I eat, and continues to keep me company for a while after that.

Then the realization dawns on me: two hours is not as much time as it seems, especially at the end of the day, and even more so at the end of the week. If I’d planned a little more carefully, I could have knocked off a few tasks — as it is, though, it might be a better use of my time to sit in the sunroom and enjoy the sounds of spring. Feel the breeze. Watch the sunset. Calm my judgmental inner voice.

Yeah, that sounds good.

By then, the sunset has reached the cotton candy phase of blues and pinks, with a turquoise backdrop. It’s time to put my Mom hat back on and go pick up my Nerf warrior.

Friday Morning

It’s a morning of self-care, now that I think about it. After I dropped Connor off at school, I drove to the salon to get my hair cut. After that, I had a little time to kill before having to be at my next appointment, so I opted to hang out here at Starbucks for a half hour instead of going home.

I haven’t had the occasion to sit at the laptop bar at a Starbucks, even though my local Bux has had one for years. It’s kinda super convenient that I can sit here and blog using my iPhone and my Bluetooth keyboard — positioned at a perfectly ergonomic height, by the way — while my Apple Watch is plugged in to charge via the USB port by my right elbow.

In a few minutes, I’ll head down the road to my next appointment: a New Patient Visit with a psychiatrist who can prescribe my ADHD meds. My GP has been the prescriber for all the brain meds I’ve tried over the years, but he confirmed at our last med check that he’ll be retiring within a year or two. I figured I’d rather transfer ownership of my prescriptions to a mental health professional so I’m not left scrambling at the last minute. Plus, while I do love my doctor, and he seems to be up to date on the latest pharmaceuticals, I suspect it would be in my best interest to have my brain meds prescribed by a brain expert.

Hopefully I haven’t spent too long tickety-tapping here — time to wrap things up and head five minutes down the road to meet my new psychiatrist.

Unpublished, Jan 2023: Life Keeps Happening

Once again, I uploaded the relevant photo from my iPhone, plus a topic sentence, with all intentions of returning and fleshing out this entry. Alas, this is as far as I got:

I thoroughly enjoyed my two-week holiday staycation, apart from the washing machine breaking and my Mom not being able to visit for Christmas.

To summarize:

  • Our washing machine stopped agitating a few days before Christmas, and didn’t get fixed until a couple weeks and two laundromat trips later.
  • My Mom had other obligations over the Christmas weekend and gave us plenty of notice that she wouldn’t be driving out to see us. As it happened, a winter storm came through and cancelled her plans.
  • The Sportage started smelling of exhaust fumes, and we spent hundreds of dollars on multiple trips to the Service Department at our local Kia dealership before the problem was finally acknowledged and rectified.
  • On my second day back at work after my staycation, I was given some privileged information about the future plans of my employer, as it pertains to my department and to me specifically. I couldn’t act on this information, and I couldn’t share it with anyone else. As of this writing, I still can’t.
  • The very next day, I woke up to find that Baxter’s eye was goopy. I provided the photo below to the vet, and they recommended he be seen by the vet ASAP. We came away from that vet visit with a two-week regimen of eye ointment.

Yet another example of that feeling I get of barely keeping up with the treadmill that is Life.