This is going to be short because I’m thinking of drowning my frustration in peanut butter. I announced I was going to Wal-Mart; Alison asked to go; then she asked if Colin could accompany us; then we took a pole for a paint pad out of the back seat for him; then she went to lean it against the garage wall and turned and fell flat on her face.
Her arm hurt a lot so we went for x-rays at the ER. No break, but a bad sprain. Back home with pain medicine, muscle relaxers and heating pads. I didn’t get over to the nursing home and Summer and I baked chicken for their supper. It was frozen; we had to defrost it. While waiting for that we waited for certain numbers to show up on the dial of the microwave as it turbo-defrosted. Oddly, we found it entertaining. I doubt we would find it so again.
The lights are low at the PBC & Roadhouse; the fire is flickering. I’m sitting here thinking all I need now is to hear Lili Marlene on a scratchy record.
Well, as Scarlett O’Hara said, “Tomorrow is another day.” If I am in the middle of trend, this could be worrisome. Maybe I need to have a great day and then opt for the Groundhog Day Syndrome, first diagnosed in Bill Murray – though I doubt I could ever learn to play the piano.
Somebody turn that record up so it will drown me out . . .