The Day the Monitor Died

I've been without computer access since last Monday, when all of a sudden the monitor went un-re-light-ably black. I had to wait until the Chief Fixer, Jed Cage, came over today and fixed it. Rather, trashed it and hooked up my old monitor. Seems the new one had blown a gasket or something.

It was a week of various aggravations, due to which I couldn't get anything done that I had planned for the book club meeting until Friday morning. At which time, I was scurrying around like a madwoman, when Susan phoned. She said she'd had emails and phone calls from the members, and nobody was coming to book club except her and Ramey and me. Susan hadn't finished reading the book, and Ramey hadn't started it, so I said to heck with the whole thing. So we didn't have the meeting.

A man came to service the air conditioner and furnace, and went into a frenzy because he said the AC is leaking freon and must be replaced, which is what they've been saying ever since the blamed thing was installed in I think it was 2002. Since it still works perfectly, I told him to talk to my son, and lots of luck. So he harassed Jed for a while, then phoned me about half a dozen more times trying to get me to sign a contract, which is becoming more and more something my hand refuses to do.

I didn't get the curtains and tablecloth made. I didn't get the house cleaned up until this morning (Saturday). And I don't plan to do anything else useful until I finish reading the biography of G. Washington that Jed brought me. And maybe the two Patrick O'Brian novels he also brought. Next Wednesday, I may june around and get something done; that's the day I'm supposed to go to The Kirklin Clinic for my annual checkup

I had an appointment last Wednesday for my checkup, but the office called and said Dr. G. had a death in the family so the office would be closed, and they changed my appt. to next Wednesday. I aim to ask the doctor what meds I need to start back on, after he gets my lab results back.

Something strange: I have tapered off and just plain quit all my meds and supplements. I don't think I've swallowed a pill in the past two weeks, and I feel better every day. My "affect" is returning; by that, I mean I feel some emotions other than aggravation, remorse and disappointment. I may even write a poem. Tomorrow is Joe W.'s poetry critique meeting day, so I need to write one anyway.

The Big Baby novel is finished, ausgepast, done with. I changed her name from Betty Lou to Barbara Lee, but kept the nickname. Jed's going to print it out on his laser printer so he can read it comfortably. Maybe we'll search for a publisher or an agent or something, but I'm already pretty deep into a novel I started in 2005 and expect to be writing that for the next few months. I know I need to concentrate on geting published, but writing is hard enough, without all that straining for fame. Maybe all these novels will be my opera posthumi.