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I’m screaming inside. I’m shaking with cold and I’m tired of feeling every little twinge in my body as if I’m about to throw up. I don’t know which is worse: getting sick or the damn medication Doctor keeps prescribing. The more I take, the more awful I feel. The Dr has no idea why this is happening. I’m pretty sure that the first round of meds probably caused all this and now they can’t figure out why it keeps happening.
When I feel better, I have this voice in the back of my head saying, “just wait, just wait.” And when it happens all over again, it’s there yelling, “you’re gona’ die.”
Maybe I’ve been in the house too long. But I cant afford to not work, so working from home is it.
Now if I could just get through till Monday, when the test results come in, to see what the hell I’ve got. Now I’m worried there won’t be some big red glaring thing and they will put me on yet more meds to make me sicker.
Sigh… Ciao
Yup. He’s gone. Only two weeks. But after a few days, I’ve gotten tired of sitting on the couch in my underwear eating cheese. My days and nights are confused. I’m not sleeping well. Any noises in the house spooked me at first. Now I’m just too damn tired to jump.
I had a list of things to accomplish while he was gone. Done. I’m bored. I figure just when I get over the hump and look to start more different projects, I’ll be picking him up at the airport.
I miss him. But more I miss the doing of things with him. The knowing he would be home soon. The frustration of having things interrupted or messed with.
I just want him safe and sound.
Ciao
Why do people feel they have the right to invite you and guilt you into those silly parties? The one’s that we all get trapped into attending. The one we all get guilted into buying poorly made, over priced junk at.
How dare she! She hasn’t spoken to me in years, but is salivating at the idea I might increase her monetary worth in life, because polite society doesn’t give you an out to say no.
Well, I’m saying no. No way. Uh uh. Get lost. I’m treating it as junk mail and not responding. Phooey on all those little pyramid schemes. And you know who you are. Humph.
Ciao
It’s the little things that make me feel old. I know I’m not hip. I don’t know if I ever was. But I’ve come to the conclusion that you can spot my un-hipness a mile away. It’s in the way I talk. Its in the way I don’t wear my messenger bag across my body, but off my shoulder. It’s my shoes. My lack of hoodies. My lack of hits on a Google search. My wondering just what the hell she was thinking putting that on the web, not spreading my innermost thoughts across MySpace. Wondering if that tattoo not only hurts, but what the hell is it and why would you get it pierced to boot.
My generation didn’t grow up with computers. Hell, I helped my friend test out his brand new ISP BEFORE it was called ISP. Back in the dark days of mainframes and dial-up. Today’s generation doesn’t even know what noise a modem makes…
Oh well this old fart, needs her beauty sleep. It’s tiring being un-cool and un-hip. 🙂
Ciao
Looking back over the years, I realize I’ve reached the months of the year where I absolutely loath my job. My company is one of those huge ocean liners that never turn on a dime and think they are just on the cutting edge of things.
We constantly are bombarded by emails, posters, and cheery phone messages saying how wonderful our company is to work for and how much money they are raking in. But if you work for a large corporation, you know where this rant is going to end up.
It’s justify-your-job-time yet once again. It’s that lovely time of year where you have to come up with ways for them to prove to you and their managers that they have good little workers and they deserve all the credit for making them that way!
I do like working for Large Company. It’s nice, friendly, and pays me okay. It gives me health benies and lovely lots of paid vacation. But 2 months out of the year I hate Large Company for making me think about how little of a raise I’m going to get and just how darn grateful I should feel.
“You want more gruel?” “Yes please.” “Here it is and that will be a pound of flesh if you dont mind”..
Meanwhile, smothering me under emails, cheery posters, and frickin’ phone calls……
Argh!
Thoughts of an Old Fart 