Tuesday, March 02, 2010

In Which We Are In a Bad Mood

As previously advertised, today's the anniversary of Dad's last trip to the ER. On the evening of March 2 a year ago, I found him bashing his wheelchair into the walls of his room, trying to get to Congress to help them with the energy bill. From there, he wound up in ICU, and then in a nursing home, and then in hospice, and then in the small white cardboard box on my bookshelf.

The anniversary may be why I'm in a rotten mood, or maybe it's because the weather's gloomy again (as it was a year ago), or -- more likely -- it's because my evening antidepressant dosage stuck to the pill dispenser two nights ago, instead of making it into my hand and thence into my mouth along with my vitamins and arthritis meds. Very bad timing. I only discovered this yesterday afternoon; I made sure to get every pill last night, but I may still be operating on a neurotransmitter deficit.

Or maybe it's because I haven't had time to knit in three days.

Or maybe it's all of the above.

Okay, so I'd probably be twitchy anyway, but the outside world isn't helping much. On Saturday, coming home from a lovely wedding reception (congrats again, Amy and Danielle!), Gary and I stopped to get gas. Sunday I got a phone call from my bank: evidently I left my credit card at the gas station, although I still don't know how. My best guess is that when I was putting the card back into my wallet, as I always do, it fell out of the car instead. Luckily, a Good Samaritan found it and, instead of loading up on expensive electronics, called the bank to notify them and offered to destroy the card.

So that account's closed; the new card should arrive today, at which point I'll have to contact everyone with whom I have online accounts or automatic payments to give them the new card number. While this situation turned out much better than it could have -- thank you, Good Samaritan! -- it's still a pain.

Meanwhile, last Thursday I ordered yet another new bag, one that should be perfect for Hawai'i, from a travel company. It shipped on Friday, but according to FedEx, it hasn't been picked up yet. This morning I called FedEx, who told me to call the merchant. I called the merchant, who told me to call FedEx. I explained that I'd already done that, and the phone rep said she'd e-mail the warehouse to find out what's going on and get back to me. She was very nice, but the situation's still infuriating.

Then I called my eye doctor to find out what diopter to order on corrective swim goggles (also for Hawai'i, to see things underwater: I don't like swimming without goggles even when I'm not formally snorkeling, and if I can see, I can spot my towel more easily when I emerge from the water). My old corrective goggles have worn out, and my prescription's changed since I got them, but I assumed the doctor's office would just give me the diopter over the phone, the way they did last time.

But no. They're not allowed to give me my prescription over the phone. That's illegal. They have to mail it to me.

I'll get it tomorrow; no biggie, right? I can't order goggles without the new credit card, anyway. But -- what the hay? Is there a black market in lens prescriptions for really nearsighted, astigmatic people who need bifocals? Could anyone use this information to manufacture weapons or drugs, or to deepen the state deficit? Could someone with my glasses pretend to be me, committing identity theft? I mean, what's the logic here? What are they thinking?

Yes, I know: I'm being very petty, and all of this would roll off my back if I were basically cheerful right now. But it's March, the Month from Hell, and I'm jonesing for Hawai'i, my Escape from Hell (ten more days! ten more days!), and I'm remembering Dad, so I'm not basically cheerful.

Meanwhile, I'm behind on grading, as always, so I'd better get back to it. Thanks for listening to me vent.

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