From Wednesday, March 21: My brand new brother-in-law won $100 in the lottery, so my sister (Sabrina) suggests we focus our efforts on purchasing as many as possible in an effort to retire to an island somewhere. But today isn’t my day to buy lottery tickets. Here is how my luck has gone: the repairman is coming back tomorrow (4th trip) to fix my 6 month old Kitchen Aid (for the way it’s made) refrigerator. The compressor or condenser or combobulator or something isn’t combobulating. Until this morning, only the freezer was on the fritz (intermittently). Every so often I’d go down and clean up a puddle of water and empty the ice maker, and then it would start working again. This morning, the refrigerator quit, too.
Today was one of those days you don’t get a darn thing done that you wanted to, but a big pile of icky things you’ve been putting off shrinks a little. The three icky things I did today–and the reason I didn’t write a word or go to Jazzercise–were: 1) I took my kingsize comforter–the one that won’t fit in my washing machine–to the laundry mat. Amazingly, this was the least icky thing on the list. 2) I dug out from under the pile of mail and other debris on my desk, filing or tossing everything, and 3) I went to the doctor–the real doctor, not the dermatologist.
Remember last week when I was having trouble breathing? Well, Jim made me make a doctor’s appointment. When you tell the doctor that you feel like you can’t get enough air in your lungs, she is going to run some fun tests. The chest xray wasn’t bad, if you leave out the fact that, while she’s sure it’s nothing, there’s a spot on my right lung and it’s my body, so I have a right to know, and she doesn’t want me to come back and say, “Well, you told me it was nothing,” if it turns out to be something, but she’s sure it’s not. So now, instead of a week of blissful ignorance, after which there would have been a remote possibility I might be miffed at her, I get to spend a week with my overactive imagination running hog wild with all kinds of horrible scenarios just so she won’t look bad in the unlikely event that it is actually something. I just think this is poor manners.
But the really fun test was the EKG. It was perfectly normal, but the precious little technician who performed the test kept calling me darlin’ and sweetie and sugar the whole time she was sticking those little patches all over me. There is something undignified about lying with your bra pulled down around your waist and having a stranger lean over the top of you to attach wires to your bare chest, all the while speaking in soothing tones and calling you darlin’. I know she meant well.
Anyway, it’s probably just my allergies, which I have three brand new prescriptions for, and an appointment to go back in two weeks, after I have one more test. Meanwhile, I have a lot of catching up to do tomorrow. I’ve got to get the first three chapters of Lowcountry Boil off to a critique/contest for a conference I’m going to in May. The deadline is April 1. And, I have to get myself to Jazzercise in the morning. Maybe if I go to the 5:45 class, I can stop by and get a Mega Moo Mocha Moolatte on the way home for breakfast.