Friday, April 6, 2012

Let's Call It a Week...

Saturday evening.  In my haste to get to the church on time to see the Easter play, I slit my pointer finger on a dogfood can lid while I was opening Gracie's food.  After cleaning up the bloody sink and dumping peroxide over my finger, I bandaged it and out the door I went.  It wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't been my right hand.  The one I always use.  And it wouldn't have been so bad if I had use of my pinky (which I now had in a splint, helping the arthritis feel better).  Another reason I  put a splint on my pinky is because of over zealous hand shakers who have no idea that their firm, strong handshake  sends me through the roof in pain.  Ouch!!  

Anyhoo.  Gary is in Florida visiting with his uncle, so I am  running the office by myself.  

Gary has demands.  Do this. Do that. Don't forget to...  blah...blahh... blah...  

He insists I do a hearing aid delivery on Monday.  The very best and newest in technology (and very expensive I might add) is about to be delivered to one of our customers (with a very strong handshake by the way) and I am learning as I go along.  

Gary calls from Florida.   Make sure you turn the computers on ahead of time in the office.  

Yes, Gary.  I know Gary.   

The 1/2 hour between 9:30 and 10:00 is laden with stress for me.  Always running late, I grab the garbage to take to the outside trash holder.  It's windy.  I'm holding the phone in one hand as Gary rattles on through speaker phone.  With the other hand I open the top of the garbage holder, then pick up the bag and go to throw it inside.  Suddenly the wind slams the lid down on the side of my head/face, almost knocking me to the ground and I drop the phone and begin to sob.   

Inside, Gracie begs for her walk around the house.  

In the office, I dig out all of the hearing aid paraphernalia and connect to the computer to program.  I'm overwhelmed.  With one finger bandaged and another in a splint, I have 3 good fingers on my right hand to work with.  There are little doo dads and thingamajigs that need put on and taken off...  My close up vision isn't so good anymore.  Trying to do something about that... but that's a post for another day.  (one of those LOL posts)

Gary tries to help via speaker phone.  His picturesque description of how he's basking in the sun at the pool is not helping my mood.  I guess I'm mad.  

Three hours and tons of mistakes later, the hearing aids are ready to go.  I call the customer, hoping he decides to wait until Gary is back.  Nope. He wants to come up right now, even though he is sick with he's not sure what....  He sounds horrible.  Ugh.

When his delivery is complete and he leaves, I notice a tickle in my throat.  Could it be?  Naaahhh..  it's that power of suggestion.  You don't pick up a bug that fast.

Later that night, I'm sick.  I can't sleep.  My throat hurts.  I feel bad!!

Gary was sick last week.  I'm guessing he gifted me with his germs before he left.  Gee...  I sure hope he's getting a nice tan.

Dear Diary,

I wish Mom could get with it and stop taking me for the short walks.  Dad takes me for the long walks.  Why can't she take me for the long walks?  What is her problem??  Where is my dad?  I want my daddy!!! Gracie.