Over the weekend, it was 60+ degrees and, by Monday, it was down to the low 30s and snowing. Talk about your defective Western NY weather….
Monday, I was hit with “I’m sorry, I dropped the ball and didn’t give you enough time” jobs. Three exams that needed to be created, sent down for copy, and returned within less than 2 days. Two faculty members who normally plan ahead well in advance. Must’ve been something defective in their lives.
I continue to have “female” problems, probably associated with menopause and/or other problems that I’ve had in the past. In fact, it was so bad Tuesday that I called the doctor’s office, and they ordered me in as soon as I could get there. I’m scheduled for yet another sonohystiogram later this month to determine what defects are causing these problems.
Tuesday night, as we sat watching American Idol Lisa said “Damn, it’s cold in here!” Instantly my mind started racing. Had I turned the furnace back up Sunday night? I’d turned it down Saturday when we were painting because it was so nice out, I wanted to air the place out. Stupid to do that with the furnace still set at normal temperature, so I turned it way down to 55. So, I got up and checked the thermostat. Normal setting. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach, and went into the laundry room and pulled off the front panel of the furnace. Sure enough, no pilot light. So, I lit the pilot light. And it went out. I re-lit it, and it went out. I did this several more times, to no avail. We put two extra blankets on the bed, and promised ourselves we’d call for repair the next morning.
Yesterday morning we got up to a frost 48 degree house. We didn’t dawdle taking our showers or getting dressed. As soon as I got to work I called a company I’ve heard a lot of ads on (and I LIKE the ads — weird, huh?) and was pleased to be told that they could be out at my house in under an hour. I arranged coverage at the office, and hurried home. It turned out that the furnace had a defective thermocoupler. The check for $98 I wrote wasn’t defective though, I’m pretty sure. Got away lucky on that one.
So, I decided that since I had the rest of the day, I’d go grocery shopping and get my new Neurontin prescription filled. I dropped off the prescription (at the grocery store’s pharmacy), did my shopping, and headed for the checkout line. The handicap checkout aisle was almost clear, so I chose that one. The cashier was just finishing up the order ahead of me, so I grabbed the separater bar, put it in front of my order, and unloaded the cart. I wasn’t sure why the cashier was looking at me in such a bizarre fashion, and rationalized that maybe she thought she recognized me from someplace. I did a covert check on my nose to ensure there wasn’t anything hanging out of there just for good measure. It turns out that she’d been eyeballing me wondering why I’d put the separator bar down, when mine was the only order on the belt. OK, I felt a little sheepish but wasn’t overly concerned about it. She rang up my order, and stood looking at me expectantly. I stood looking at the register readout waiting for it to approve my payment. Uh. My payment! Sheesh! “I guess I should swipe a card or two here, eh?” I asked the cashier. She rolled her eyes slightly and said “That would be helpful.”
I had promised Lisa crab legs for dinner, so I got the kettle on with water and turned on the burner beneath it. By the time she got home, dinner was ready and I was just setting the table. I always burn candles when I fix crab legs, to sort of drown out the fish smell. I lit the French Vanilla candle on the kitchen counter, and decided I’d use the new liquid potpourri warmer Lisa’s mother had gotten me for Christmas. I removed it from its box, poured some potpourri in it, turned it on and…….nothing. A new, cute little defective potpourri burner.
One of the things I’ve noticed about being on the Neurontin is that I’m subject to some very bizarre dreams. Last night I dreamed that everyone had a massive infestation of maggots in their homes. You couldn’t walk anywhere in any house without seeing them on the floor or in the walls or in the appliances and plumbing. They were just everywhere. So, everyone had to move out of their houses and set up “camps” in which to live outside until the infestation ran its course, which took a few days. Seems like there’s a defect in my brain, if it creates shit like that.
During the morning commute, I was listening to the radio and the traffic report started. I was advised that, on the expressway, between two specific exits. there was a disabled eighteen wheeler on the left shoulder. Being right in that vacinity, and in the center lane, I decided I’d stay right where I was. Sure enough, up ahead, I see the county’s HELP truck, with a flashing arrow telling drivers to merge to the right. As I passed by, I noted that the eighteen wheeler was missing fourteen wheels. It was a Pontiac Grand Am with a flat tire. No eighteen wheelers in sight. Makes me wonder what the defect was the person had that reported that one to the traffic reporters.
The barometer has taken such a roller coaster ride in the past week, my knee and thumb are screaming. Whoever came up with the oxymoron “minor arthritis pain” was defective. Nothing minor about it.
I was thinking about crawling under my bed to finish out the week, afraid of what’s going to happen next, but there’s a defect there, too. No underneath to the bed. It’s a waterbed on a pedestal.