Negatives
Black chunks are falling off my tattoo. I assume that's normal, shedding the outer layer of damaged skin. I'm anxious that what I'll have left won't be so distinctly black; it's so pretty as is. Sorry, no picture yet. I'm computerly challenged at the moment. My home computer is boxed up for shipment to Dell for repair, and my office computer won't read my USB card reader. Those USB ports have never worked, and I shrugged (not needing them). Now I regret the inaction.
Yesterday I started a job long procrastinated, my mother's 2004 tax preparation (extended until August 15 and of course I didn't do it in June as I promised myself). Every time I've thought about doing it I've felt a huge, soggy, heavy mental block. Anything to do with Mom brings up all the emotional baggage of watching her decline and die in the nursing home. I don't even want to touch it. Now, I have to. I have to clear all her debts before any of us can get our hands on our inheritance, and the slow wheels of law office land appear to be finally creaking toward that goal. No choice. All those numbers. Argghhh!
I've crashed my beloved Honda Civic Hybrid! It's disabled, in the shop for a nose job, while the huge SUV I hit is barely dented. No, it wasn't my fault! This lady thought she could tell no one was coming, despite her view being totally blocked by a stopped bus. My husband, who was with me, called it the "braille method" of checking for oncoming traffic. As we passed the stopped bus which occupied the right lane of traffic, driving in the left lane, the red behemoth burst out in front of us intent on making a left turn out of a strip mall onto a busy four-lane street. I barely had time to react, slamming on the brake with little effect. We were already there.
No one was hurt. Despite vigorous head-wobbling, even our necks are unfazed. She got the blame and the liability, so it's only a matter of waiting two weeks for repairs. The little Toyota Corolla rent-a-car is sludge compared to my Honda. Too bad I left the book I was reading inside the car.
By the way, why didn't my airbags react?
Yesterday I started a job long procrastinated, my mother's 2004 tax preparation (extended until August 15 and of course I didn't do it in June as I promised myself). Every time I've thought about doing it I've felt a huge, soggy, heavy mental block. Anything to do with Mom brings up all the emotional baggage of watching her decline and die in the nursing home. I don't even want to touch it. Now, I have to. I have to clear all her debts before any of us can get our hands on our inheritance, and the slow wheels of law office land appear to be finally creaking toward that goal. No choice. All those numbers. Argghhh!
I've crashed my beloved Honda Civic Hybrid! It's disabled, in the shop for a nose job, while the huge SUV I hit is barely dented. No, it wasn't my fault! This lady thought she could tell no one was coming, despite her view being totally blocked by a stopped bus. My husband, who was with me, called it the "braille method" of checking for oncoming traffic. As we passed the stopped bus which occupied the right lane of traffic, driving in the left lane, the red behemoth burst out in front of us intent on making a left turn out of a strip mall onto a busy four-lane street. I barely had time to react, slamming on the brake with little effect. We were already there.
No one was hurt. Despite vigorous head-wobbling, even our necks are unfazed. She got the blame and the liability, so it's only a matter of waiting two weeks for repairs. The little Toyota Corolla rent-a-car is sludge compared to my Honda. Too bad I left the book I was reading inside the car.
By the way, why didn't my airbags react?
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