I almost wrote “31 Easter” as the title of this post.
I didn’t get a chance to do any Eastering with Sean, but with Thea we never had much of a yard and weren’t really plugged in to community stuff, so most years we just did a plastic-egg hunt in the house. She had plenty of fun with it. Now there’s no reason to really do anything. Dad says he’s Catholic; technically I suppose I am too, thanks to infant baptism. (I think the Church counts us baptized folks even if we aren’t confirmed for Communion.) But Dad makes rabbit-hunting jokes this time of year so I suppose we know his take on it.
He’s still doing okay and will actually be grilling today. He got a barbecue pit a few weeks ago and then fell ill so had to keep putting it off. My only concern at this point is how long the chicken has been in the fridge. It could have been a lot worse. Dad initially had me take chicken out of the freezer over a week ago, last Friday I think, for thawing to grill on Sunday. Then he felt like shit so he never got started. Then on Wednesday he expected me to roast that chicken which had been in the fridge for more than half a week. I wasn’t fucking having it, because chicken’s not supposed to sit opened (not in original packaging) in the fridge for more than two days. I could fudge it to three or four if I felt like taking the risk, but no more than four for sure. So while he was napping that day, I thawed the same number and kinds of pieces and threw out the ones that had been in the fridge. Then he wound up in the hospital, so I never roasted the chicken, so that’s what’s in the fridge today. We have hit my four-day limit but as long as he doesn’t do his all-too-often thing of not cooking the bigger pieces long enough, I think we will be all right.
If I complain about having the pukes and the shits, you’ll know we weren’t.
I can’t decide if I am suffering negative placebo effect from learning about that stupid EKG result or if shit is just getting borderline scary. As it is I’ve had heart palpitations at bedtime for a while. Nurse practitioner asked if I was also having trouble breathing and I said no, but there are times I wake up from sleep gasping for breath so I’m betting sleep apnea is also on the fucking table. And sleeping on my left side is less comfortable than sleeping on my right. The only reason I ever do it is so I am not always sleeping on the same side and never giving it relief from pressure against the mattress. Kind of important for general circulation. I just miss being able to sleep like a normal person. Hell, I miss BEING sort of a normal person. It’s terrifying how far out of things I have fallen. One of these days I’m gonna wake up dead and my luck, Dad will have gone during the same fucking night and we’ll both be in this house for like a week before we’re found. I don’t even have life insurance and at this point, I’m not sure I could get any. Certainly not term. I would fail the physical. I think the whole-life products are more expensive, too.
But it could be worse, or at least just as bad. Matt had a policy out on me when I lived with him. I’m dead surprised (har har) he never tried to murder me. Though maybe that’s the real reason he stressed me out so bad. It’s so fucking awesome how I’m an evil nasty person for swearing loudly when people hurt my feelings but him driving my blood pressure up with his lies and games is perfectly okay. I love humanity, but I fucking hate people.
I think I have a lead on a possible job. It will go nowhere because this is me we’re talking about, but if it did by some miracle work out, it’s in Crowley. What happens with this position is I get email notifications of open jobs from the parent company. Every now and again they will tell me again that this specific position is available. I don’t know if they are just fishing for applications (which a lot of employers do, the bastards), if the same job has not been filled and I just get repeat notifications for the same one, or if people keep quitting. My chances of getting and staying hired depend greatly on which of those options it is. I really don’t want to have to drive 25 minutes one way to work, but it’s no worse than driving 25 minutes one way to deliver food, which is what I was doing two fucking years ago. As long as they never try to push me into management, I’m good.
I still have to sort out more medical shit, so hopefully if I did get it they would be flexible for me, but me not having work is just untenable.
I did sell a bracelet the other day, finally. It was one of the chonkier ones with gemstone beads in it, so that was good for twenty-five bucks. I did not get the full twenty-five. I had to put between four and five into shipping because I wanted a tracking number, and then I owed listing fees which came due this month, and of course there are Etsy’s version of final value fees when something sells. But I still had over seventeen left, so I’m not crying about it. That can sit in my PayPal, unless I hit an emergency, until the listing fees are due again. I’m honestly not fussed. I need to list more bracelets anyway.
Also on the agenda, hopefully tomorrow:
1. I just lost a domain name. I went back and forth about whether to try to keep it and in the end decided that if I haven’t done anything with it in all this time, I’m never going to do anything with it. I will double-check to see if they’ve driven the price up to $70something to renew it now that we’re past the expiration date. If it’s still its normal price I’ll grab it, but if not, it’s gone.
It’s the “bistitchuality” domain. I love the idea, because I both knit and crochet, but some part of me is now going “eh” about the TQplusWTFLOL reference. I still think I want to do a blog about my yarny crafting at some point. I don’t know why, because I’ve never done one yet. I’m weird. But if I don’t use this name, I have to think up a new one. You see my very silly dilemma.
That said: Even if I can’t renew that one, if the finances are right, I might re-up “bigmanchronicles” early. Just so I’m not having fucking heart attacks about it next month. Having possibly had one already, that was e fucking nuff, thanks.
2. Get money into my Credit Builder card so when hosting hits I’ll actually be able to pay it. When Dad was discharged from the hospital and while we were still in Crowley, he handed me a $100 bill and sent me into Walmart for a few things (he wanted to sit in the car and have a smoke) and told me to keep the change. He does that sometimes, which is why I don’t have to constantly beg for money.
(That said, the GoFundMe is still up. I don’t know the link off the top of my head but you should be able to find it if you want to.)
(And thank you if you do. I’m so glad I have minimal expenses right now. This is embarrassing.)
…And basically whatever else occurs to me, but those are the two major things. I need to list more bracelets and I’d like to edit the existing listings. We’ll see, though. Typically I get sucked into social media because I miss having people to chat with (Carrie is wonderful, but not chatty), and next thing I know two hours have gone by. I don’t know what I do about that. I don’t want to be reduced to doing nothing but shucking and jiving for income. There is so much more to life than that and I never get any of it. What I’m gonna get is all the way to dead having never done anything significant or interesting. How depressing.
(“You had two wonderful kids, blah blah” And they both hate me, so now what)
—
Adding this in later. It transpires that Dad has not changed his bicarbonate dose yet. He thinks he is supposed to wait until he gets his revised prescription from the pharmacy. Now, his kidney doctor did not say to change the pill dose. He just said to take two pills instead of one and to take them three times a day. For some reason, Dad didn’t understand that all the way.
So Dad’s at the very beginning of crashing again. He was okay this morning, but as he was minding the grill he got extra tired. I am debating with myself whether to make him take a double dose (not double the new dose, just the new double dose the doctor prescribed) of his bicarbonate before bed. The pharmacy will be open tomorrow and I’ll probably be going to pick it up, and maybe he’ll be okay until then, I don’t know. My concern is that he will not listen to me. He usually doesn’t.
Guess that thinking of me as slow and stupid ain’t working out so hot, eh Dad?
I wonder if we can figure out organizing his medicine doses to account for the midday bicarbonate. Maybe I can find a three-times-a-day organizer at Walmart. I’ll try to remember to look when I go to town. I’ve got a $25 gift card I can dip into.
Eh, we’ll figure it out. It may take him being sick a few times. We’ll see.