A Month of Travel: Part 2

~ riggledo ~ 2 Comments

Most of my time spent in Oklahoma was uneventful.  I’ve already written about my interactions with my mother and the changes that have taken place with both of us in our relationship so I won’t rehash that again.  I’ll just say that I’m at once encouraged and disappointed in how things went.

After my last post from Tulsa, a conversation went down in which I expressed exactly what I’d said in the post.  It started out innocently enough.  After much cajoling, arrangements had finally been made for one of my mother’s friends to come spend the evening at my mother’s house so that I could get together with my good friend Heather.  The plan was that my mother’s friend Dorothy would come over around 6:00 in the evening and eat dinner that I would prepare for them and then hang out with my mother until she was ready to go to bed.  My mother was pretty self sufficient in small increments and would be ok by herself for a little while if I wasn’t home before Dorothy left.

Mom and I were discussing what would be an appropriate meal to prepare and we’d pretty much settled on Salmon with Asparagus and a Salad.  If this sounds familiar (It’s what I described cooking the first night) it’s because we had a lot of Salmon with Asparagus and Salad.  I asked a couple things about whether or not Dorothy would want a certain thing on her salad or on her salmon.  Finally Mom said, “There is only one thing that I know Dorothy doesn’t like and that’s coconut.  Only in Dorothy vernacular it would be ‘I don’t eat coconut.’”

Dorothy grew up in a proper, southern home near Little Rock, Arkansas.  I laughed and said, “Yes, because to say ‘I hate’ would be ugly and improper.  It’s not right to hate.”

Mom replied light heartedly by saying, “Yeah.  They should make it illegal.”

I laughed.  I didn’t think I was laughing all that loudly, but I must have been because I didn’t hear the warning bells that were surely sounding loudly in my ears, “WARNING!  WARNING!  DANGER ZONE! DO NOT APPROACH!  WARNING! WARNING!”  Instead, I reflected on recent events and the news and said, “Yeah well, they’re working on it.”

It was as if a dark cloud descended over her and where only a moment before a jovial smile had adorned her face, now there was anger and disdain as she said, “Yeah.  Isn’t that a mess.”

“Why is it a mess?” I asked.  I was utterly shocked that my supposed peaceful, God-loving, Christian mother could possibly have anything against the Hate Crimes Bill.

“Because!” she said, “Just you watch.  That thing’ll pass and then the next thing you know they’ll be suing churches.”

I’m sorry, what!?  “Who will be suing churches?”, I asked.  I was sure I knew who she meant.  I guess on some level I just needed to make her spew her venom.  I needed to hear it, to know that what I thought she must be saying was, in fact, what she was saying.

“Gay people!  You just watch!  If this thing passes the next thing will be Gay people, suing churches for discrimination.”

I couldn’t believe it.  I couldn’t believe that this woman who raised me and raised me to be respectful to people was spewing such bigoted hogwash that was so completely out of right field. Not only was it bigoted hogwash but it was clear to me that she was speaking from a position of ignorance.  I knew, and tried to convey to her, that the Hate Crimes Bill is not about discrimination.  It isn’t even about equality.  It’s about harsher penalties for those would perpetrate violence against others simply because they hate what that person is or what they perceive that person to be.  I also pointed out to my Mother that everything I’ve ever seen that relates to “equality” does (and I believe rightly so) provide exclusions for religious organizations.

My Mother would not be swayed, “Just you watch,” she told me. “It will happen.”  So what else could I do?  I rolled my eyes and said, “OK, Mother.  Whatever you say.”

Don’t think for a minute that she could let it stand at that.  She went on a diatribe about how wrong homosexuality is and how given the chance it will destroy this country.  And she tried to support her argument with Biblical doctrine.  “Do you not understand that?” she asked me when she was through.

“I understand that not everyone sees it the same way you do, and that doesn’t automatically make them wrong,” I answered.  “I understand that there are multiple ways to interpret things and that it’s not absolutely clear that your way is the right way.”

“There are not multiple ways to interpret it!” She enthused.  “There’s only one way to interpret it.  It’s through out the Bible.”  So apparently there is only one interpretation of the Biblical scriptures and if you’re not sure of the interpretation, just ask my Mother, she’ll tell you.

I could have told her that I have found alternative explanations.  I could have told her that there’s a whole society of people who feel that the Biblical references on which Christians have built their entire structure of judgment and hate toward homosexuals, could just as easily, and with more substantiation, be interpreted to be about hospitality, and against violence and rape.  I could have told her that I’ve found multiple sources, scholars who have devoted themselves to the languages and the understanding of the ancient text who have agreed that the words that have been interpreted to be homosexuality, do not exclusively mean homosexuality, or in many instances can not be translated at all.  I could have told her that the consensus seems to be that the word Homosexual doesn’t even appear in the bible before the latter part of the last century.  I could have told her all these things.  But it was clear that she would not believe me (and really why should she?) and that she would not be open to considering any other possibility other than her own.  So I said nothing.

A silence fell over the table as we continued to eat our lunch.  And then suddenly, “I’m not an ignorant bumpkin, you know,” she said.

“I never said you were an ignorant bumpkin,” I told her.

“Well, you guys sure act like it,” she replied.  I assume she was referring to my siblings and me.

“I don’t think you’re ignorant, or a bumpkin,” I told her.  “I do think you’re highly judgmental and unkind.”  I paused for a moment and then I said, “I have been amazed in the time I have been here at how much time and energy you have spent being angry about any number of things over which you have no control.  You think the world is a terrible place and everything is offensive to you, even though most of it doesn’t impact you directly and none of it can you do anything about.  I just think that must be exhausting for you.”

Sadly, from there the conversation went down hill.  She asked me to give her examples of what I was talking about.  And the only examples I could give her were her commentary on the movie we’d seen the day before when she said, “Oh it was pretty good, I just wish people didn’t have to just jump in to bed with each other all the time.”  I pointed out that it would’ve been sufficient to say that the movie was good.

Her response was that she was answering a question I had asked.  Then I pointed out her reaction to the movie preview for the upcoming remake of Fame, where she was disgusted at the way these “children” were acting.  “People forget that these are 13, 14 and 15 year olds, acting like that.”  I didn’t think the actors looked that age, and seriously doubt that they are that young.

She asked for more examples and I told her I couldn’t give them, because I don’t sit around keeping a tally.  “The point is you get irate about things on an on-going basis and I think it must be exhausting and you could be putting that energy to better use by letting your body use it to heal faster.”

I didn’t expect there to be a change and I’m not surprised there wasn’t, but I felt much better because I didn’t just sit around biting my tongue.  I expressed my view and I didn’t back down, just because my Mother didn’t see things the way I did.  So, I guess in truth there was a change, just not the one I might have hoped for.

My Mother’s bosses were out of town most of the time that I was visiting however they were home for one day and on that one day they took Mom and me to lunch.  At lunch they discussed making a deposit that they had brought back from the trip.  There were a number of credit card charge slips that needed to be put through their electronic credit card machine.  It was decided that we would go by their office after lunch so that we could get the credit card machine and a few other items from the office so that Mom could make the deposit (and by Mom I mean me.)

Boss and I walked into the office with a mental list of things to bring out: Credit Card Machine, Deposit Book, Endorsement Stamp and Hand Lotion.  The last item was for me.  Once we got inside I noticed that the machine was almost out of paper so I called out to the car where Mom was waiting with Mrs. Boss and got instruction where to find more rolls of paper.  Boss and I returned to the car with Credit Card Machine, Deposit Book, Endorsement Stamp, Hand Lotion (for me) and two rolls of Machine Paper (even as I’m writing this I’m realizing this doesn’t sound like much) clutched in my hands.

Later that afternoon, while it was just Mom and me at her house, she made a comment, in a fairly light tone, “Only two men would go in there with that list of stuff and come back without a box or bag to carry it in.”

In the past my Mother has been Jenny on the spot with negative, derogatory comments about men.  This was the only time she made this kind of comment during the whole two weeks I was there, so this is progress.

I replied to her comment with “Only this man walked in there with the presence of mind to make sure you had enough machine tape to do your task so maybe you’ll just be grateful for what you got.”  She decided I was right and let it go.

The rest of my visit with my Mother was fairly uneventful except that it gave me some time to reflect on my life and my relationship with my Mother.  I realized that I was much happier than I’ve been in a while because I neither had to go to or think about work.  I was off work for 26 days including week-ends, so I had a long time, with income, not to think about work at all.  I realized quickly that this is a clear indication that my work environment is not right for me.  I must get out.  I just haven’t figured out how to do that.  Something happened last week that made me seriously think about walking out, but I read today that unemployment in California is at 12%.  It seems unlikely that I can even count on getting work through a temp agency so quitting my job could amount to cutting off my nose to spite my face.

But I know something has to change and quick.  I’m at my wit’s end!

More updates about my trip to follow.  There was a whole week with my sister and her family that was a whole lot more eventful and fun than the time taking care of my mother and before that I did get to spend two separate evenings with Heather, so I’ve got good stories to tell as well.

Ya’ll come back now, ya hear?

A Month of Travel, Part 1

~ riggledo ~ Leave a comment

At long last, I am fulfilling the demand of my reader and I’m here to tell you about my extended period of travel this July.  Strap yourselves in, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride!

Right from the outset I got off to a rocky start.  Because it was domestic travel, I presumed that arriving at the airport an hour ahead of my travel time was sufficient. This is generally what I do and it works out fine, however, I don’t generally travel so freaking early in the morning.  Because it was a last minute booking the most affordable fare I could find had me leaving at 7:30 in the morning.  Michelle picked me up to take me to the airport in plenty of time and I arrived at the airport at approximately 6:40.

I checked in at curbside.  Back in the olden days of yore I was always afraid to do that because I assumed there was probably a fee associated with it.  One trip when Michelle and I were going somewhere together, we were running late, there was a long line inside the airport and hardly anyone outside so we decided to go for it.  It turned out to be faster, easier and freer.  Of course in today’s climate where you have to pay to check a bag, it hardly matters anyway.  I approached the kiosk put my suitcase next to the counter and presented my ID to the ticket agent.

“Where you headed today?” he asked.

“Albany.” I said confidently, a sentiment that did not match my state of mind at that hour.

He began pecking away at his keyboard.  After several seconds he asked me, “Do you have another stop first?  I’m not finding you on the flights to Albany.”

No, I don’t suppose he would.  “I’m sorry,” I told him, “Albany is the next leg.  I’m headed to Tulsa today.”

He smiled and went back to his task.  He found me easily enough after that and printed out my boarding passes and my luggage tag.  When he had finished and I had paid the fee for my checked bag, he handed me my boarding passes and sent me on my way.  He didn’t give me any instruction as to what gate I was going to or what direction to go to get there.  At the time, I felt this was odd and poor customer service.  The rest of my  journey would prove to me that, while it’s still poor customer service, it is not at all odd.  It is just one more example of how courtesy and customer service is a thing of the past.

As I walked away from the kiosk, making my way to the doors to find the security check point I needed to go through, I looked down at my boarding passes to determine what gate I needed.  The first boarding pass said Gate D60.  I looked around for signs to direct me and found the sign directing me toward the gate numbers in the 60’s.  Oddly, there are no letters associated with the gate numbers, but whatever, gate 60’s thata way, thata way I shall go. By this time it was creeping up on 7:00 and I knew that if the flight was to depart on time, they’d begin boarding shortly after 7:00.  I picked up the pace.

Following the signs, I walked down a long empty corridor which ended abruptly with nothing more than doors to go back outside.  Well, dang. If that guy would’ve told me where I was going I could’ve saved some time by staying on the sidewalk.  Oh well. I exited the doors onto the sidewalk and saw a sign posted on a tall orange traffic cone directing through a temporary covered, construction-type “side walk” to get to the gates in the 60’s, still no letters, hmmm… and continued my journey.  Another long walkway led me to an entirely different building around the departures driveway.  I walked in the doors, by this time panting, lacking breath, but there ahead of me I saw another sign for the gates in the 60’s and beyond that I saw a security checkpoint.  I hustled there.

The line wasn’t tremendous but there was a line and it was going on 7:00.  As I stood in line, making my way to the first stop where I’d show my boarding pass and ID, I looked up at the monitors searching for my flight number to see if, by chance it had been delayed and I would be OK.  But wait, my flight number isn’t up there.  What on earth does that mean?

As a rule of thumb, I’m a very anxious traveler.  From the moment I wake up the day of the trip, until the moment I’m in the departure gate waiting for boarding to begin, ticket in hand and confirmation that this is the right gate and flight number obtained, I am anxious.  I have only had one instance in my life where things didn’t work out just fine and as such, I’m trying really hard to rid myself of this habit of fretting needlessly over the maybes and worst case scenarios and instead just go with the flow confident that things will work out fine.  Even if things don’t go absolutely according to plan, they will still work out.

So there I stood, the security checkpoint line advancing slowly, looking at my watch as the minutes ticked by and looking at the monitor and not seeing my flight number, actively telling myself not to worry, that this was going to work out fine.  And that’s when I noticed it.  The only flights listed on these monitors were American Airlines flights.  Well, that’s weird, I thought, why do they only have American Airlines flights listed?  There are other airlines you know.  No matter, at least I know I’m in the right place; I’ll just have to hustle to the gate when I get through security.

I was up next and I walked up to the attendant and confidently handed her my boarding pass and ID.  She looked at them, and then looked back at me.  They always confirm that the photo on the ID matches the individual so this didn’t strike me as odd.  And then she said, “Are you traveling on another airline besides American?”

Duh! You’re holding my boarding pass, why don’t you look at it.  Of course I am! I thought before answering, “Yes, I’m flying on Delta today.”

“Well, this is security for the American Airlines flights,” she told me.  “Delta is back that way.”  She pointed the direction from which I had come.

I looked dumbfounded, I’m sure.  I looked down at the boarding pass she had handed me and began to speak.  “But my boarding pass says gate D—“  And that’s when I saw it.  Right there, on the face of my ticket, in plain letters:

DEPARTURE CITY:  Salt Lake City

ARRIVAL CITY:  Tulsa

The guy at the curbside check-in kiosk had given me my boarding passes with my second flight on top.  Since he didn’t tell me where I was going or what gate number I was looking for, I assumed that the boarding pass on top was the correct one as has always been the case.  Sure enough, the departure gate for my flight from San Francisco to Salt Lake City was gate number thirty-something.  I was in the right place to begin with and I had gone far out of my way.

I hurried back down the corridor, out the doors, through the temporary walkway, back into the building and down the long corridor I had started from.  As I emerged from the other end of the corridor, I saw the security checkpoint for this batch of gates off to my left.  I rushed over and got in line, watching my watch, and losing my artificially imposed calm, instead giving way to the panic that was creeping up.  What if this line takes too long?  What if I don’t get to the gate in time?  What if they’ve given up my seat? I was really beginning to worry, and that’s when, as if someone heard my cries, another line was opened up.

I rushed through the process of removing my laptop from its bag and putting it in a bucket, removing the buckle of my belt, taking my cell phone from my pocket and removing my shoes.  All items went into a tub with my jacket and computer bag and I headed through the medal detector where I did it all in reverse.  Throwing my coat over my arm and my computer bag over my shoulder, I made my way to the gate which, fortunately, was not far from the check-point.  As I was approaching the gate, I heard an announcement overhead, “Paging Delta Airlines Flight (whatever it was) to Salt Lake City, Passenger Kevin Riggs.  This is your final call.  Please report immediately to the boarding area or your seat will be given up for a stand-by passenger.”

Fortunately I was just walking up to the counter as he finished his speech.  Not only did I just make my flight but I was in the first row, aisle seat, just the way I like it.

There is, obviously, much more to this story, but as I’m already at 1560 words, I will bring this to a close for today.  More to follow in the coming days.

Stay tuned for a special announcement, unrelated to my travels.

Miraculous Modern Medicine

~ riggledo ~ 3 Comments

DISCLAIMER #1:  This post is Rated PG-13.  The following contains content of a graphic (non-sexual) nature that some readers may find objectionable.  Parental guidance is suggested.  Reader Discretion is advised.

DISCLAIMER #2:  Those readers who know me in the real world may find this post to be TMI and may be well advised not to proceed.

For the rest of you:

I had an experience yesterday that I was itching (so to speak) to write about but wasn’t sure how to proceed.  You see, for a while now, I’ve been experiencing a bit of physical discomfort of a… personal nature.  My boo-tay was uncomfortable.  There was itching and burning and tenderness that I hoped and hoped would resolve itself and go away.  It was terribly uncomfortable but not nearly as uncomfortable as what I’d have to put myself through if I opted to seek medical attention.  So I waited.  Surely this thing would work itself out and before too long I’d be all better and wouldn’t have to humiliate myself (because clearly that’s something I’m worried about…)

I remember these commercials from when I was a kid, a woman sitting in a theater, squirming, shifting her weight form one cheek to the other, never wanting to put all of her weight squarely on her seat, the tag line reading, “I shoulda used my____________”

I’m reminded also of the scene in Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, when Doctor Evil reveals his dasterdly plan to destroy earth using a special “la-zer” on the moon.  The “La-zer” was created by The Allen Parson’s Project and was labeled Preparation H.  Preparations A-G didn’t go so well, and “on the whole, [Dr. Evil] just think[s] Preparation H feels better.”  On the hole.

Dealing with the discomfort I was feeling, I assumed that I was experiencing what the woman in the theater was experiencing and that Dr. Evil’s “la-zer” would solve my problems.  Over the course of some weeks (a couple months – I really didn’t want to go to the doctor) I attempted to find relief using every version of Dr. Evil’s “La-zer” that was available on the market.  I tried the tubes of ointment, cream and gel as well as the suppository version and wipes as compresses.  Everything helped a little bit, for a little while… until it didn’t.

I spent the first 21 days of July traveling, as you most likely know by now.  There wasn’t a lot of time to think about myself, and not a lot of time to spend dealing with my own issues.  And then there was the flight home.  I spent four and a half hours on a flight from Cincinnati to San Francisco, in a seat that was not particularly well padded.  By the time I arrived in San Francisco, my pooper was not happy.

I continued to ignore the signs hoping for some divine intervention of some sort but the problem just worsened.  Over the course of the week since I returned home I reached a point of not being able to sit still at all.  The itch was constant, stabbing and painful, unbearable to the point of making me nauseated.  Finally, I bit the bullet and made a Doctor’s appointment for yesterday afternoon.

I drove to the hospital with considerable trepidation, not looking forward to my appointment, but realizing that I had to do this if I hoped to get any relief.  I parked the car and went into the medical building to find my Doctors relocated offices.  As I stood in line waiting to check in, I overheard someone else asking and found out that my doctor was running behind schedule.  Lovely, I thought, not only am I miserably uncomfortable and stressing over how this appointment is going to go, but I have to sit in the waiting room for a while waiting for my appointment.

I sat in the waiting room chairs, clinching and flexing, shifting and squirming, trying to ignore the itch and discomfort while I waited to be called back to the exam rooms.

Finally 20 minutes after my appointment time, I was called into the back where they weighed me (their scales are evil and indicated my weight to be eight pounds higher than my own scale said in the morning) and my blood pressure (white coat syndrome gets me every time) which came out to 139/91.  I knew that my blood pressure would be high, due to my anxiety but I also knew that my regular blood pressure is lower and that this number isn’t worth worrying about.  (The doctor did recheck it manually and found my blood pressure to be 105/75 – well within the healthy range.)

The Nurse then took me into an exam room where she input my information into the computer and then after determining the purpose of my visit handed me a folded blue cloth the size of a bath towel, told me to remove my pants and underpants and use the cloth to cover myself.

I did as I was told and sat down on the bed with the paper liner and picked up a magazine to peruse while I waited.  I read the entire magazine while I waited for the doctor to come in.  I sat, naked from the waist down and squirming for 50 minutes while I waited to be seen.

Finally, he arrived and we began our examination/discussion of symptoms and then the moment of truth, the moment I’d been dreading for so long arrived.  The Doctor donned some rubber gloves while I turned and lay down on my side.  And then in a matter of seconds, it was done.  He barely touched me, looked me in the eye (if you know what I mean) and then was done. And then came the first of two moments that I didn’t expect and despite my discomfort made me laugh inside.  Having discussed the use of Dr. Evil’s “La-zer” my doctor asked me, “Have you put anything up there today?”  What a question! Then he asked me, “How do you clean your butt?”  My Butt?  Is that a medical term?

When the doctor walked in and asked me what was going on, I said, “I have a rash on my left Buttock that has been very intensely itching,” and, “A considerable amount of itching in the rectal area that I can only assume to be hemorrhoids.”  The doctor asked me if I “put anything up there” and how I clean my “butt”.  What’s wrong with this picture?

Well, it seems that I’ve painted myself into an embarrassing corner that I can’t paint my way back out of so I’ll just get to the conclusion by saying that I do not have hemorrhoids (I know you were curious) but some sort of fungal issue.  The doctor gave me some creams to use and this brings us to the miraculous part.  I left the hospital with my prescriptions in tow yesterday at 5:45 in the evening.  I used them as instructed and already this morning, I was better.  I got through the entire day today with no issues, no squirming, and no begging for relief, no afterthoughts of “I shoulda used my…”  No need for Dr. Evil’s “la-zer”.

Thank God for modern medicine!

Ummm… What?

~ riggledo ~ 3 Comments

OK.  I know I still owe you people an update about my travels this month and I promise it’s coming but I had to share this.

I was on Facebook a minute ago, doing my daily fish wrangler tournament casts (the only reason to be on Facebook as far as I’m concerned!) and I saw this ad on the side of the screen:

Soul Storage

WTF?

Not Quite the Post You’ve All Been Waiting For

~ riggledo ~ 3 Comments

I’ve been home since Tuesday evening and I’ve been going fairly non-stop since then. Two days ago I was threatened with bodily harm, by my bloggy friend, if I didn’t post an update about my trip in 24 hours.  I have already missed that deadline and I’m watching my back, looking over my shoulder and shaking with fear when I start my car.

Since I’m not able to put up the vacation highlights post (it’ll probably be a few installments) I figured I should at least post an explanation of the delay.

My plane landed at San Francisco International Airport at 6:30 PM, on Tuesday and then sat on a cross over between the two parallel runways while we waited for another plane to push back from our gate.  By the time my plane pulled into the gate, we off-loaded, I got to baggage claim, found my suit case and I got to the curb outside where Michelle was waiting for me it was after 7:00 so we decided to stop for dinner on the way home.  We ate at Red Lobster in San Bruno where we were served by a nice-looking, lean, tall, soft-spoken Asian waiter and where I had my first alcoholic beverage in three weeks.  After all that time, the fact that it didn’t even taste all that good was inconsequential.

We left there around 9:00 for our trip across the bay and made our way to Oakland where I darkened my own door for the first time in 21 days. As much as I missed being in my own home, sleeping in my own bed and cuddling with my own cat, it felt really strange to be here after so much time away. I stayed up with Mischa while I watched a little television and drank a glass of wine.  I went to bed around 11:00 after an 18 hour day, 9 of which were spent traveling.

Wednesday, I got up around 10:00 in the morning and worked my way toward getting myself out of the house.  I had places to be and things to do, and so I had to fight fatigue and the draw of the many hours of television I have built up in my DVR to get out of the house.  After a shower and dressing I headed out to the AT&T store to buy my new iPhone 3G S.  It was a bit of a rocky experience as their wait list system needs some work, but within an hour I was walking out the door with my new phone, with which I saw an instantaneous improvement over my first gen iPhone.

From there, I violated my own personal philosophy and went to the IKEA to buy a dresser.  My first trip to IKEA was shortly after it opened (the first one in the bay area) and the store was packed.  IKEA being set up as a maze, as it is, I felt like I might be lost forever, I couldn’t get out fast enough and when I did get out, I swore I’d never go back.  For quite some time, I’ve been wanting to buy a dresser. I’ve looked at Target and Wal-Mart but didn’t find quite what I needed. Some time ago, on a whim, I looked on the IKEA website and found JUST THE THING.  But fucking IKEA doesn’t offer mail order, you can’t call and have it ready and waiting for you and run in to buy it and run out again, you have to make your way through the maze and you have to pick up your items yourself and bring it to the register.  It was 3:30 on a Wednesday afternoon and I walked in the store and saw hardly anyone there.  I was able to walk around the store, look at stuff and make my selection thoughtfully without feeling any pressure or frustration.

It was necessary for me to purchase my dresser this day because my neighbors and I were having a “large item” trash pickup on Thursday and I needed the dresser in order to get rid of a separate piece of furniture.  Suddenly it was urgent, so I bit the bullet and went for it.

I extended the invitation to Michelle to take advantage of the situation to get rid of some things, but in the 21 days that I was away and she was Mischa sitting she never brought her items over.  Since I was out and about anyway I went to her apartment to get the items she wished to dispose of. I returned home around 6:00, off-loaded my purchases and Michelle’s refuse, heated my leftovers from the night before for dinner and set about building my new dresser.  I finished the body of the dresser Wednesday evening and swapped it with the furniture I wanted to get rid of.  After completing my labors for the evening I took a second shower and settled in to watch a little TV while I cuddled the cat.  (He missed me quite a bit.) Thursday, I got up, fixed my breakfast and a pot of coffee, sat down to watch some television and build the eight drawers for my new dresser.  I spent the rest of the day watching TV.

Friday, I had a therapy session at 10:00 in the morning, went to buy the Cadillac cat food Mischa is getting these days and then went to Michelle’s house to do three weeks worth of laundry.

Today (Saturday) I put away my laundry and reorganized my clothes based on my new set of drawers.  After that I showered, dressed and headed out to Target and Albertson’s (I refuse to refer to that store by its real name *cough* Lucky *cough*).  And so here I sit now.  When I arrived home Tuesday, I had only 5% of the space remaining on my DVR, now I have 33% remaining.  I had 356 unread posts on my Google blog reader, I now have only 282.  I arrived here 18 hours behind on Twitter; I’m now up to date.

Yes, I’ve been on vacation for three weeks already, but nonetheless I need rest and I had much to get done before I could think about anything new.  So you see, I Eat Snowman Poop, I have really been very busy and it seems clear that I may not have time to get around to writing my very lengthy post or posts about my travels until I get to work on Monday where, as we all know, I have nothing to do.  Please don’t hurt me!  I’m too delicate to bleed!  I promise you’ll get your updates soon!