It’s the Little Things that Define a Life

For better or worse.

Take today for example.  For some reason I have a sprained wrist.  How did I get it?  I have no idea.  But the wrist brace I bought maybe twenty years ago has come in handy, even though it makes tying very difficult.  (Twenty years, you say?  Does she keep things around that long?  Yes.  Check out my closet.)

Also, when I was getting in bed for my afternoon nap, which I take religiously, my left knee was twiching with arthritis, and it’s not even wet out.  Am I falling to pieces?  Well, yeah.  But every medical test I take tells me I’m absolutely normal.   If I’m normal, the human race is in trouble.

I was at the library today.  I hardly ever go to the library anymore because I have LIBBY and can get my books that way.  However, I like to listen to audiobooks in my car, via CDs.  Yes, that makes me an old fuddy-duddy.  I took out a book I thought sounded fascinating and slotted it.  Only to discover, no matter how high the volume, I couldn’t understand half of what this reader was saying.  (Did this have anything to do with the call I got this afternoon from the hearing center where I got my test, urging me to get hearing aids. Absolutely not.  The reader mumbled—I’m sure.)

Little things in life pile up, don’t they?   I’m adverse to talking on the phone, but there are so many appointments one cannot make via email or texts.  When I do connect, it seems that no one has the time or the timing is inappropriate.   I wish workmen would realize that my optimal time zone is 9-12 a.m.  I’m otherwise engaged in important things like lunch, nap, recovery from nap.

On the bright side, I got my flu shot at 9:45 am on a Monday.  Also I finally heard from a snow-plow person that he could do my driveway this winter.  Yeah.  Two little things to scratch off my list of things I really don’t want to take care of, and yet—

Has anyone tried to make a doctor’s appointment lately.  I love all the “my charts,” but they only take one so far.  Sometimes you have to actually speak to a person, who needs to know your name, your address, your insurance—and here some ask for the numbers on your insurance card.  Well, I call from downstairs so I have to run up and fumble in my purse to find the damn cards—then they inform me that the doctor can see me in six months.  Hmm.

What about delivery people dropping your package off at the wrong house?  They send you a photo of their perfect delivery, and you can see it’s not your steps.   Then you look over at your neighbor’s and there’s your package.  Now with these neighbors you know you’re never going to see that package in this lifetime.  Gee, I hope they could use those urine test strips.

I made the mistake of buying a Samsung refrigerator.  The ice maker worked, it didn’t work, it worked, it didn’t work.  How many repair people did their best and finally it stopped working and I was too exhausted by the whole affair to deal with a repair again.  So I bought a counter ice maker.  Guess what’s not working.

Does anyone out there have a day when everything goes perfectly?  Or, are you like me where something, admittedly truly minor, goes wrong and you sigh and think, where is my day of perfect sunshine?