Bitchy McBitcherson's Blog

Tag: being me

  • The Mark of Stress

    There is a cold sore blister on my face. It is ugly. It hurts.

    There is a big knot in the back of my neck and my right shoulder.

    My lower back is so cranky, it is making crunchy noises.

    Stress- it doesn’t just fuck with my mind.

    Today was overall a decent day. The thing about being dragged kicking and screaming away from home by the bitch I call life, is that I have a lot less work to do here. As long as I don’t think about it waiting for me back there, I can just sort of chill. Sort of.

    Except that people in New Mexico are so relaxed that they actually stress me out. “Laid back” looks a lot like spaced out and lazy to me.

    I have seen some art that I liked. That is a plus.

  • 2009 in Review

    Rather than posting the month by month review of 2009 that I sent out in an email. I created a wordle.

    2009

  • Friday, December 4th, 2009

    Almost every night of my life I go to bed with a plan as to what I will be doing the next day. Almost every single day, something goes awry.

    Thursday, December 3rd, I went to bed, and my Friday looked like this:

    • get up
    • have breakfast
    • go to hand therapy
    • get out of hand therapy and go to the vet to pick up medicine
    • get gas
    • go home to have lunch
    • go to see Little Women (The Musical)
    • go home to drop the kid off
    • run to Costco
    • take kid to the show she is assistant stage managing for
    • go home and get more work done
    • pick kid up from the show
    • eat dinner
    • go home

     

    On Friday I got up and I had breakfast and went to hand therapy. Hey, so far, so good.

    I sat and waited and waited. Hand therapy has never started late before, but I used the time to contact the person who had my play tickets. I had forgotten to get them from her when I saw her on Saturday, so the new plan had been she would hand them off to somebody else who was going to the play. I wanted to find out who had the tickets.

    She still had the tickets.

    Hand therapy finally started, late, and of course, ended late. Instead of heading to the vet, I needed to go pick up the tickets. At breakfast the kid had suggested we could go out for lunch, but on the way back from getting the tickets (ticket holder and I don’t live near each other) I called and told the kid to just eat. We were going to be very tight getting to the play.

    Got home and looked up the address from the place the play was held, because the tickets just said the name of the theater, assuming I’d know. I got the address and went out to the car. The nav system was unfamiliar with the address. It knew the street, but the construction was too new to have the address listed. That got me close. We sorted out the rest and pulled into the parking lot 5 minutes before the show was scheduled to start.

    Little Women happened. It ran A LOT longer than I was expecting. We rushed home so she could get ready to leave for the show. I wanted her to go with me to gas, Costco, and the vet because I didn’t think I’d have time to come back for her and still get her downtown for her show.

    I went upstairs to use the computer for a few minutes while she gathered her snack and stuff for the show. I was sitting at my computer when I heard crashing and thudding. I yelled out to her… got up and started moving, and yelled out again.

    In response, I hear, “It hurts.”

    Fuck. So, I’m moving faster, but not sure where she is. It sounded like something tumbling down the stairs. She wasn’t at the bottom of the first set of stairs. “Where are you?” I yell, as I am about to open the basement door to look, but she made a groaning noise from the kitchen so I went in there, to find her sprawled on the floor, kind of sitting, with her legs akimbo and tangled in the barstools. “What did you do?”

    “I fell, and my hand is stuck.”

    “What?”

    “I tried to stop myself from falling, and I can’t get my hand out.”

    I got closer to her and moved the barstools out of the way. Her legs were REALLY tangled up in them. Then I took a look to see what she was talking about. Her right arm was up and twisted around and her hand was palm flat against the fridge with the hand through the refrigerator handle. Her fingers were through the freezer handle (side by side).

    “You have to get up, you can’t move your arm from that position. You’ll have to lift with your body.”

    “I can’t. I’m stuck. It hurts.”

    “What hurts? Your elbow?” (things are twisted around really awkwardly)

    “No. My hand.”

    I try to lift her off the floor by her armpits to give her a better angle on moving her hand. She shrieks at me. I let go. I move a barstool and tell her to use it to lift herself up. She tries but collapses in pain.

    I look at her hand again. It seems… fine really, just in the door handle. It went in there. Take it out.

    I tell her I’ll try to move it. I touch it. She shrieks. I try to slide it. She shrieks. I poke at her shoulder and elbow again and ask where it hurts, and again she tells me her hand. I get some ice out of the in door dispenser and put it in a baggy to put on her arm.

    “Look, you’ve got to get your hand out before it swells up and really gets stuck.”

    “Believe me. I’d LOVE to,” she snarls.

    I begin looking at the door handle to figure out how to remove it.

    Now I may as well take a minute to point out something you might already know. I’m not soft and cuddly. It isn’t that I am bad in a crisis. I’m just not very comforting. This makes me bad for some people. I like information. Then I want more information. Then I want a plan of action. Then I want action. I’d like all this extremely rapidly. I’m not warm and nurturing, and I don’t do “everything will be just fine” unless I have some kind of proof that things are going to be fine.

    My kid tends to get a little anxiety filled in a crisis, and with the anxiety comes a lack of clear communication. I want a description of the pain so I can try to figure out what is happening. She just keeps letting me know there is pain. We’ve been having this same thing happen since she was little.

    It isn’t that I am completely lacking in maternal instincts, but… it is kind of overrun by my instinct to, “leave the squawking one before the noise and weakness and fear draws predators to the rest of the pack”.

    So, because I cannot get a good assessment of pain out of her, I try threatening her. “Do I need to call 911?” One of the things I passed onto my daughter through a lovely combination of nature and nurture is a complete dislike for strange people invading our home, and any medical person ever touching us, ever, but especially when they are unknown, and we are in pain and feeling vulnerable.

    “Well I can’t stay like this!” she snaps.

    Oh. Interesting. She is open to the concept of needing to call 911. That has NEVER been her response.

    I decide it is time to call her father. He’s nicer in situations like these and has more of a calming effect. I do this while digging out the refrigerator manual in hopes of finding some instructions on how to remove the door handle, but my initial examination of the handle has not left me feeling hopeful.

    Him: Hello?
    Me: I think you need to come home. I’ve got a bit of a problem here, and I actually think I’m going to have to call 911.
    Him: What?
    Me: It’s fine, but Z fell and is in pain and she’s kind of stuck… you should just come home.
    Him: Okay. But, what’s going on?
    Me: I don’t know! She fell and she got her hand (I start laughing) stuck in the refrigerator door (I say, laughing all the way HOHOHO).
    Kid/Regan MacNeil (and yes, I think her head might have spun around) screams: Yeah it sounds fucking funny, but it fucking hurts!
    Him (who cannot actually hear WHAT she is screaming): Stop saying 911, you are freaking her out.
    Me: Just come home.

    I look through the manual, but it has no instructions for the door handle. I continue to encourage her to keep trying to get out. This continues to annoy the shit out of her. I tell her I that I didn’t bring any of my saws from California, so I think I’ll need to call 911 so they can saw it off. “But, I still need my hand,” she informs me. I try to reassure my suffering from shock child that the saw would be for the handle, and not her arm, and I laugh at her a bit more. She tells me she needs to call her stage manager, because she won’t be able to do the sound board like this.

    I again try to ascertain what type of pain she is feeling, is it deep bone pain, or surface pain. She tells me she can’t feel her hand at all anymore.

    Well, fuck.

    I explain to her that I think it is time to call 911, and she doesn’t argue in the slightest. I pick up my phone to call, but there is an incoming call.

    Me: Hello? Where are you?
    Him: I’m on my way. WHERE is she again?
    Me: In the kitchen.
    Him: I don’t understand. What’s going on?
    Me: Look, you are just going to have to see it. I need to call 911 now. Are you almost here?
    Him: Are you sure?
    Me: I’ll see you in a few minutes.

    I call 911, and start my call with “This is going to sound really strange, but…” and proceed to explain that my daughter is stuck in the refrigerator door handle. Blah blah blah. Help. She tells me she is sending the police and paramedics and that they will get her out.

    I look through the manual again. Troubleshooting does not cover this issue. At all. Fuckers.

    Her father arrives home, gives me a WTF look, and I wave him toward the kitchen. I hear him trying to convince her to, you know, just take her hand out. More anger and pain and frustration (and possibly pea soup) spurt out of her. He laughs at her less than I do, because he is much nicer.

    I go out to look for the cavalry. The first to arrive is a police officer. He tells me to give him a couple of screwdrivers, and he’ll get her out. He asks how she is doing. I tell him she is freaking out. He tells me to take care of her, and he’ll take care of the handle. I don’t bother to explain to him that it would actually be more efficient to switch roles. I give him the requested screwdrivers and go out to meet the pulling up EMTs.

    The police officer is totally unable to get her out.

    The EMTs (3 of them) come in and check her shoulder and elbow and then poke at her fingers a bit. They slather lubricant all over the bits of her hand they can reach, the door, and the handle. Then one guy tries to brace the door and pull on the handle, to flex it and give her a bit more space. He slips and just opens the door a bit instead. More screaming. Later she told me it took everything she had not to kick him. He got the door shut again, pushed his fist against it with more force, and pulled on the handle again. Another guy grabbed her arm and hand and forced it up, and she was free. There was a valley in the back of her hand, near her thumb. At the deepest part it was about 1/2 inch in.

    They tested everything and determined that it wasn’t broken, and we all chatted as the officer worked on the police report. They’d never seen anything quite like it before. They admitted to being very curious when the call description came up on their screen (maybe that’s why they sent 4 guys?). One lamented not getting a photo of it with his cell phone before they got her unstuck. Uh huh. Internet, anyone?

    Anyhow, soon the emergency services crew were gone, and the family tried to salvage what we could out of our day.

    By Monday we did end up needing to take her in to have her hand checked because she was complaining so much of cold intolerance, and her hand was often physically colder than the other one. The doctor ordered x-rays which verified the previous determination that nothing was broken. She said the cold intolerance was due to crushed nerves and capillaries. Supposedly she should be in good shape in about two months.

    So, yeah, neither one of us have proper use of our right hands.

    Give me a fucking break.

    I had to invite strangers into my house.

    To rescue my teenager from the fridge.

    Seriously.

    This is my life.

     

    ETA: I did get the handle off later. It would not have helped. Actually, it just would have injured her more.

  • Happy Father’s Day

    My father taught me a lot of things over the years.

    The thing that has stood out the most though, was simple.

    “Back up as far as you need to, or at least as far as you can, to start with.”

    It makes good sense. Driving in reverse is more difficult than driving forward. Your body position is less comfortable. You sight lines aren’t as clear. The best way to spend as little time doing that as possible, is to get it right the first time.

    Why does this stand out the most? I guess that makes sense too. I back up pretty much every time that I drive. It also occurs to me every time I am in a parking lot watching somebody back up two feet, pull forward a little, back up two more feet. They are hesitant and want to back up as little as possible to get on their way, and in doing it in this fashion they just lengthen the amount of time they are in the way and more likely to encounter, or cause, a problem.

    A while back I mentioned it to him. That out of all his advice, and all his teachings, this is the one that I firmly attribute to him and has stuck with me all these years.

    He laughed, and at first I thought maybe I had insulted him a little. Surely he had shared more important things with me in our time together.

    He said, “Well, that’s really interesting, because I’ve often thought it was the most useful thing your grandfather said to me.”

    And so it goes.

    I love you, Dad.

  • Phones=fail, internet=good

    (subject is a writing prompt from stacymckenna)

    I mostly hate talking on the phone. I occasionally see value in it, but I would really be happy to use it 90% less than I do, and I really try to limit the use now. There are a lot of reasons for this, but it isn’t because I dislike communicating with all people all the time (that is just a some of the time thing). The biggest reasons for me, have to do with efficiency and clarity.

    I tend to be busy and stressed. The phone ringing interrupts me. I hear the ringing and at the very least must stop whatever I am doing long enough to decide whether to completely ignore it, or think about what else to do. If I don’t decide immediately to ignore it, I must then figure out who it is and make some sort of judgment about what to do based on that. It feels intrusive to me. Like somebody tapping me on the shoulder. Tap Tap Tap. It is invading my mental space bubble. Even if I let it go to voicemail, I must then deal with it later, and I greatly dislike voicemail too

    Now, since that is how I view incoming calls, it is also how I tend to view outgoing calls. This makes me rather loathe to make a call. Why would I want to interrupt somebody else, just because I happen to have time at that moment?

    I like email. I can send an email when I have time. They can get to it when they have time. I check my email a lot, and quickly process whether I want to handle it immediately or later. I handle it when I am ready. I can look it over multiple times to make sure that I still think it communicates what I am trying to communicate. Then I can send it. When there is some sort of failure to communicate, I have a text record that I can go over and try to figure out where the failure occurred. This isn’t really a matter of assigning blame in most cases, it just helps me to learn how to handle things better in the future. It is less time consuming and stressful than playing back the memory recording in my head of a phone call to figure out where things went awry.

    I even like chat. I can make myself available when I am available. I can be “away” when I don’t want to be available. It is like faster and more immediate email. It feels more like conversation to me, but still gives me more ability to multitask and deal with it as I have time.

    Now, I do happen to like my cell phone, because it lets me carry my email and AIM with me everywhere. I also like text messages.

    Somebody recently told me I should give out my phone number and say, “but the speaker on my phone is broken, so just text me”.

  • Yesterday’s Outing

    The kid got far enough in her schoolwork early enough in the day that I was able to justify us going out for lunch as a treat rather than just eating at home. + 1 Unfortunately this would require that I leave the house -1, but it was getting rolled into a library trip that we already needed to take. +1

    We went out for sushi (always +2, because it is sushi) but sushi in MN completely stresses me out because the quality to price ratio is offensive to my sensibilities -1 and sitting in the restaurant looking at the menu just made me ache for CA -1.

    We ordered our food and it took FOREVER even though everybody there already had their food. I ordered their “14 piece sashimi combination chef’s choice“. When my food arrived the waiter said “Here is your 14 piece sashimi combo,” and he placed a plate containing 12 pieces of sashimi in front of me -1. Along with the mistake itself, this was also stressful because A) I was already stressed about the pricing to quality ratio. B) in order to have any hope of fixing it I was going to have to SPEAK TO THE WAITER AGAIN. (I hate extra interaction, it is off my rehearsed script for the outing and is really not my favorite) C) I could not help thinking about the huge potential for annoyance depending on their response. -2 (in some ways, because of who I am, this is -100 for the restaurant, but I am trying to be somewhat more “reasonable” while still be honest about who I am, so for the outing I’ll just give it a -2).

    I tell the waiter, “This is probably going to seem really picky, but there are only 12 pieces of sashimi.”

    “Huh, that’s weird,” he responds, “Would you like two more pieces?”

    You think?

    “Umm… yes,” I offer him back the plate, but he declines indicating he’ll just bring it on a side plate. He walks half the distance to the sushi bar (we sat at a table) and announces, “You only put 12 pieces on that 14 piece plate.” Now the whole restaurant knows I complained. -1

    The chef says something back, which I cannot hear, and the waiter comes back over and asks, “Do you know what you’re missing?”

    “No…” I push he plate toward him again, and he says “I’ll just show this to him so he knows what is missing,” and takes the plate away.

    I look at the kid and announce, “Chef’s choice – I choose to give you two less pieces!”

    The waiter brings my plate back with the missing 2 pieces of sashimi plus a bonus piece. +.5

    We eat our food, sharing mediocre food back and forth and chatting about stuff. We goof off playing perspective games pretending to squash each other’s heads with chopsticks. Yay table manners. I take a photograph to post on the internet. +2

    We finish up and the waiter drops off our bill. I look at the total and that surge of MN sushi pricing stress washes over me, -1 and I see that the top line item is:

    WATER (2 @ 1.50) 3.00

    “You’ve got to be kidding,” I say.

    “What?” the kid wants to know, so I just push the bill over to her and she looks at it. “What…? No. NO!” she takes a photo of the bill.

    I get out my credit card and text the husband something that includes swearing and the word never.

    The waiter comes over to pick up the card, and I ask, “Do you really charge for water?”

    He laughs.

    Then he looks at me like I am a freak because I am not laughing at my funny joke, and explains “I just add it so that I don’t forget to bring the water.”

    Then he looks uncomfortable because I am still staring at him with a question on my face.

    Then he opens up the folder and looks at the bill.

    “Huh, that’s weird,” he says. He wanders off and goes to punch buttons on the computer for a bit. That does not seem to work because next he asks the sushi chef about it. The sushi chef knows nothing. Next thing we know, he is on the phone talking to somebody, loudly apologizing for interrupting.

    The conversation goes on for a while. It keeps getting louder. Extra interaction, again -1 and it is causing too much noticeable fuss, making me feel troublesome -1 and it is happening loud enough that I feel conspicuous to other diners -1.

    The louder and longer the phone call goes on, the kid turns more and more magenta trying to hold back her laughter. It is a surprising color and somewhat amusing to me +1.

    He finally comes back with a revised bill charged to my card and I sign it and we get out of there as quickly as possible.

    “I’m the most disagreeable customer they’ve ever had,” I tell the kid as soon as we get out the door. She bursts out laughing.

    Next we go to the library. I like the library. It is big and clean +1 and full of books +1. It is also highly automated and I can check books in and check them out without ever having to speak to anyone +2!

    The kid goes to find the books she has on reserve, which also does not require speaking to anyone +1 and I go to pull a couple of books from the shelf that I want her to check out. The first one is listed as being in Teen Fiction Book WREDE and I go to the shelf marked TEEN FICTION T-Z and TEEN NONFICTION and I locate the book and pick it up. I then switch to looking in the small teen nonfiction section of the shelf for the other book, but when I cannot find it I look at my note again – Children’s Nonfiction Book 510 and realize it is listed as children and not teen. I go over to the children’s area, where there are children being unpleasantly behaved and kidhandling books with little parental supervision -1. I wander around trying to find the shelf marked CHILDREN NONFICTION but cannot find it. I wander and wander and fear that I am going to have to go speak to a person. -1 The kid finds me and asks me what I am looking for and I tell her I am looking for the children’s nonfiction section and she points to nonfiction and says “Nonfiction is there.” I start to correct her, but then see in small print on the NONFICTION signs “children’s books too”. I do not understand why “teen nonfiction” gets its own section and “children’s” gets mixed in with the rest of nonfiction. I go and get that book. +1

    Then I looked for something for me to read. Before I left the house I had looked for things I wanted to read, but nothing was checked in -1, so I had put several books on reserve. I still wanted something to read. I ended up grabbing Jim Butcher’s Furies of Calderon and a featured teen book by Stephanie Hemphill, Things Left Unsaid, a novel in poems, because I was interested in the format. Neither were things I had been looking forward to reading, but at least I found something before I overloaded on being around people and had to leave without. +1

    Next I went to Micheal’s to pick up something that the kid wanted, because I had a coupon. +1

    Finally we went home, forgetting to take care of the post office errand. -1 On the other hand, I didn’t have to set foot in the post office. +1

    This leaves me with a total score of 1.5, so I win this round of the leaving my house game!

  • deep breaths

    I am up and dealing with insurance. This requires talking on the phone.

    My insurance company has a way to file claims online, but I can’t use it because I am not signed up for it. I was signed up for it with all my California policies, but it did not automatically add my new MN policies, even though it always automatically added my new CA policies, and both office definitely know about each other and share information. If something is done in another state, you must specifically request that policies in the other state be added to your online account. I did not know that. Nobody mentioned it. I made the request on Friday, but it still has not been verified and approved.

    Minnesota is a No Fault for personal injuries state. I should have already known that, and probably had read it someplace in the billions of things I’ve read, but it had not stuck.

    What this means is that I need to deal with two separate claims. This means twice as much effort and more importantly twice as many phone calls.

    Meh.

    Today I am going to try the day with only my supersized dose of ibuprofen and skipping the muscle relaxants. If I get to be in too much pain, I will adjust, but that is my plan for today. I will probably take both at night to help me sleep more comfortably.

    I am really missing CA today. Specifically, I am missing being near the people I would be near if I were in CA. But, I’m not in CA, and that’s okay. I’ll just practice my breathing and do what I need to do. I think I can get away with one more day of not grocery shopping.

  • just call me hostile

    Hi.

    I am cranky as all shit, and on drugs. If you say anything that even remotely has a whiff of advice about it, I will lose my shit. You might think that I appreciate your wisdom, but you would be very wrong. Seriously, I am not even slightly fit for human interaction and I used up all of my patience dealing with medical people today. What I want right now is a Vosges Mo’s Bacon Bar and to be left alone. Oh, and dinner at Porterhouse Bistro, except with a restaurant buy out so that nobody else is eating there.

    Friday night we were on our way to the kid’s show (she is on light board). We were making our way to the theater in rainy stop and go and crawl and rush and creep and go and stop traffic. The car in front of me stopped. I stopped. The driver of the Nissan Pathfinder behind me was looking away in hopes of changing lanes, and utterly missed the lack of continue to go.

    BANG

    Ugh.

    Cranky.

    The first thing I did after making sure that Z and I were OKAYish, and the other driver was okay and not a hit and run sort, was twitter “Car accident. Fuck.” which wasn’t really about being geeky. I didn’t have time to call A yet, and my tweets go to both his cell and computer, so it was the easiest way to try to quickly give him a heads-up. It had the rather strange added side effect of telling 50 other people about the accident almost as soon as it happened.

    The guy was polite, a bit overly chatty, licensed, and insured. To illustrate the overly chatty, I can tell you he has three daughters in their 20s, he recently was laid off, and he was on his way to an AA meeting. Police stopped by, FIRST stopped by. Actually, FIRST blocked traffic enough for us to make it off of the freeway and into a parking lot, so that we could more safely exchange info. That was also as far as Mr. Pathfinder could drive. His transmission was not behaving normally, and it looked as though his radiator was cracked, but they could not look inside to see because the hood wouldn’t open anymore. He also had several chunks off of his car that he gathered up off the freeway, like sad toys, and tossed into his backseat. He requested that FIRST call him a tow truck.

    We decided not to do the ambulance thing, for reasons that I am not going to to bother justifying, but there are reasons and I stand by them. As we were close to the theater, and I needed to figure a bunch of things out, I went ahead and drove there and let the kid do the light board thing.

    I sat in the parking lot and looked things up on my phone and made some phone calls. I put in a call to her orthopedic sports medicine specialist back in California, and was able to exchange messages and he wanted her to have x-rays done. I tried to look up urgent care information, but the phone is very limited. The show soon ended and we made our way home. She was hungry, so she had some dinner, while I found the closest urgent care that accepted our insurance and verified that they offered x-rays. Some do not. By this time I was definitely experiencing pain. I had not immediately following the impact. My intention was to go ahead and get us both checked out, although honestly, had she not been hurting, I would not have bothered to go just for myself.

    We decided to wait until A got home since I didn’t really feel like driving. He got home, we made our way to the urgent care place and had trouble finding it. We finally got there, and they had closed a few minutes earlier. I had misread their hours and they are only open from 6 PM until 9 PM. We went home so I could look up other places, but all of them were already closed. A few were open as late as 10 PM, but too far away for us to get to in time. At this point I was in a lot of pain myself, was tired and stressed and pissed and really just fucking hating being in Minnesota instead of California, where I would have been able to deal with this with so much less effort.

    It was a night of not going smoothly, from the new (no choice in the matter) health insurance website, to the car insurance website, to urgent care, to fucking everything. I just wanted to be HOME, and by that I did not mean the fucking rental house.

    Anyhow, we determined that it was definitely not an ER level situation and we did ice and some meds and some bed, with plans to do Urgent Care the next morning at the place that opened earliest.

    Which, is what we did.

    It took hours.

    A few parts stand out.

    The nurse handed me the thermometer and said “Just put it wherever it’s comfortable.” I kept my mouth shut, but Z and I traded looks.

    X-ray techs really rub me the wrong way. When Z was done with her set of films she came out and said, “So… radiology departments just universally suck.” I couldn’t argue.

    The doctor came in after looking at the x-rays and was concerned by something she saw on Z’s and wanted us to wait longer so the radiologist could review it before we left. The radiologist ended up clearing her, and all was well, but it wasn’t a very fun wait, especially for Z.

    Anyhow, x-rays showed no injury to the bones. It is all soft tissue stuff, and just needs time to heal. Ice. Muscle relaxants. Ibuprofen. Time.

    She has a lot of soreness in her neck and shoulders, as well as some in her lower back. I have some soreness in my neck, but it is really pretty good, as long as I don’t tilt it or turn it. I have more pain in my lower back, plus my arms, pectorals and hands hurt.

    When all meds are on board I feel pretty damn okay for about an hour, and then I want to sleep. Mostly we have been sleeping the day away, and drinking a lot of water because we feel very hot and parched.

    Unfortunately my husband goes out of town tomorrow. I’m really not looking forward to dealing with dog walks yet.

    So, yeah.

    How is your weekend?

  • yellow piece of paper

    Since feeling sorry for myself is essentially useless, I also looked for an acceptable, although not optimal, solution.

    So, husband’s boss is now on the form, since at the very least he is likely to know where husband is and a secondary way to get in touch with him. A touched based with him to make sure that was not a problem.

    Form filled out. It will only have the one emergency contact. Done.

    Kid is enjoying being on crew, more or less, mostly more.

    Tonight I go see the preview show.

    Honestly, I’m still feel sorry for myself today, but *shrug* I know damn well that things could be a lot worse.

  • would you like a little whine with that?

    This morning I feel fucking sorry for myself because I need to fill out a little yellow piece of paper because Z is stage crew on a show.

    I have no fucking answer for somebody to put in the Emergency Contact space in case we cannot be reached, much less two names.

    We have no fucking friends here. We are just here, all alone.

    Now, mind you, in all the years of her doing stuff, I’ve never had a situation where the emergency contact needed to be contacted, but in L.A. I always had a number for that spot, and a number that I knew would reach somebody who would handle it as I would want it handled.

    Fuck Minnesota.