Still no sign of the mouse that was supposed to be here by 9 pm last night. As of this moment, it is 17 hours and 45 minutes late.
Quelle shoc. I knew there was no chance it would arrived after 5 pm, and I had my doubts on it arriving today too. My Spidey-sense was tingling and telling me that this is one of those times when the thing that was supposed to be simple, easy, and awesome would turn out to be complicated, difficult, and frustrating.
Luckily. Julian lets me use his mouse when he is not sing it, so I am not totally stuck in a Mouse Keys wasteland. He’s off doing his dog sitting work, so I have the luxury of using his ancient Lenovo mouse for the time being.
Son of a bitch.
I just logged into my Amazon account to track the package and not only does it say that they attempted delivery yesterday at 1:59 pm (if so, we did not hear of it and they didn’t not leave a slip) but the website actually has the gall to tell me it is now “delivered and available for pickup. ”
Well which is it, motherfuckers? Because it can’t be both!
I suppose what they mean is that it was delivered TO the place where I am going to have to go to pick it up, but that’s not what I paid the extra eight bucks for.
I paid to have it delivered to me, in person, where I am right now. Or at the very least to my frigging building. And if they couldn’t get a hold of us because the buzzer doesn’t work properly, they should have left a slip like they did with Joe’s package.
Maybe they didn’t leave a slip because there was already a slip there? Whatever.
So now I have to call Joe and get him to take me out there to Jericho Road in/on Sea Island again, this time showing up without a slip and hoping my ID is enough to get my frigging package finally.
But what really pisses me off is that my package was already there when we went there yesterday. If I had just thought of going in with J&J and asking if they had anything for me, I would have had my mouse already.
But no, that only occurred to me on the way home, and by that time I was in no fit mood to ask Joe to go BACK.
I’m in no fit mood to ask him today, either, but it’s that or ask him to take me tomorrow and that appeals even less.
So now I have to call him at work again and ask him to drive me out there. again.
I think I will give him the option of taking me tomorrow and see which he prefers. Because to be brutally honest, I really do not feel like going out there right now.
Because on top of all this mouse poop, sleep is really kicking my ass today and despite having had seven or eight hours of slepe already, I am still quite sleepy.
And fitting a trip out there AND the other half of my blogging for today into the time between now and going out to dinner with Le Gang seems like way too much for me at this moment, and all I really want to do is nap.
Le sigh. I will muddle through somehow, I am sure.
Time to call Joe.
We’re doing it today. Wow, I think that’s the smallest amount of time that seperator line has ever represented.
I will plug away as hard as I can to get as much blogging done before he arrives as I can. So much for my nap. I will have to squeeze it in between the time we get back from motherfucking Purolator and the time we go out to eat.
I might have to ask for a delay in our depature for feeding in order to accomodate my advanced sleep needs.
And god damn it am I sick of that shit.
It’s like I only have two options : I can either not take a sleeping pill and end up slightly psycho from not enough deep REM sleep, or take a pill and end up with way too much sleep. There is no comfortable compromise.
And I am a comfortable compromise kind of guy. I am always happiest in the middle.
At least I finally got my shit together and got my Metformin and Glyburide game going again. For a long time, I was running out but kept putting off doing anything about it because it would involve having to go see my GP and that’s like…. hard.
So instead I was taking them only once a day, with lunch,. and shipping the dinner dose entirely. This was objectively stupid, but depression makes even intellectual titans like me quite stupid sometimes.
Stupid is, after all, as stupid does.
So instead of dealing with making an appointment and then going to see my GP, I instead volunteered to be tortured 24/7 by the Demon Hunger that makes life so damned difficult when it is around.
It makes me so hungry that I can eat an entire pot roast dinner and STILL be hungry.
I shudder to imagine how much food it would take to actually sate me when I am in that sate. Let along whether I would survive the meal.
Luckily, I know better than to binge. Especially when I know I have had a perfectly adequate amount of food – the same amount that sates me fine when I am healthy.
Thank goodness I have my drugs now and I am getting back to that healthy place where I can have something like a normal hunger/feeding cycle.
Still, it’s fucked up that I let it get this far. Let us once more take up the old refrain : I am not fit to look after myself and could really use some help keeping it together.
But that help does not exist.
So I’m fucked.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.