I’d Rather Be Sleeping

Do you ever have one of those days where you wake up and wonder why you woke up?  Not in a bad or negative sense, but rather one where when you wake up there are a million things that must be dealt with right away and you woke up feeling tired.  That’s the kind of day I was having.

Although it was a few items of less than million items I said above.  Okay fine, since you asked nicely, it was 6 things that needed to be dealt with all at once.  But those 6 things might just as well have been a million things for the success outcome.  In other words I wasn’t feeling too confident about taking on everything that needed to be dealt with.  Not first thing in the morning.  Not before coffee, copious amounts of coffee by the way.

So I woke up tired, still having nagging pain that should have subsided already and a phone meeting with an insurance company.  Because apparently now the insurance company has received a medical degree, a specialist’s designation at that.  Oh and the insurance company knows for a fact that the two medications that are kind of working at slowing down the progression of lupus really aren’t ideal for me.  As in they will no longer cover the medication.  Because as they informs me in a lovely letter the “medication is not being used entirely as it is intended”.

Fine I get that my medication is in the chemotherapy family, and anti rejection family.  And true right now I do not have an organ transplant, and no I’m currently not fighting cancer.  But and here is the huge but, the meds are what’s keeping lupus at bay.  So in. Way, yes they cost a bit more, but if lupus gets out of control the costs go up.  And since they can’t just uninsured me, one would think they’d use some common sense.

The other stuff I had to deal with was also in line with things of that nature.  And so I would sooner have not had to get up and deal with everything because friends, there are days when the world doesn’t have enough coffee.

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A Magical Time Of Year Indeed

It’s that time of year again. The time of year where I flip through my recipe books and such to look for what I want to make this year for the holidays. I will inevitably pull out close to a thousand (okay give or take a few hundred) recipes that I simply MUST have this year. I will plan how I shall make everything or rather how I shall manage to get it made (you know when someone else steps in such as Beloved for instance) and I will determine where to buy all the ingredients.

Oh yes my friends, I shall start this off with amazing gusto and enthusiasm. And then, well then something will come up and the recipes will mock me. I will be grateful I couldn’t find certain ingredients or just didn’t get around to purchasing them. I will try to strike items off my list of must haves. Oh, how I will struggle with this task. And as I struggle days will pass by.

The passage of time will limit now how many times can be made. Now things such as how much time is involved in each recipe, how challenging will be it to make and how many people will enjoy it come into determine what stays and what gets removed. I will delude myself that this is it, the final cut has been made and we will be good to go on the rest of the food.

And then something else will come up and I will go through the cycle once more. It may even happen one more time before the time crunch and memories dictate what will and will not be making an appearance this holiday season. And of course I will promise myself that this is the LAST YEAR I will be in this mess. Until the next season comes around that is..

Notes Of Assumption

I was happily listening to Pachelbel’s Cannon in D when a dear friend stopped by. Her face immediately lit up which I naturally attributed to the beautiful music. With her eyes wide she asked, “did you finally say yes?” in an almost breathless voice.

Ah yes, I forgot. The music that was meant for small gatherings has become something that people, brides to be exact, now insist on walking to. So naturally my friend assumed I was listening to the music due to upcoming nuptials. She was sorely disappointed when I smiled and said “nope” followed with an ever so cheerful, “I happen to enjoy this piece, but am disappointed that to you would think I’d only listen to it for wedding ideas/feelings”.

Of course a great number of musical pieces have been usurped from their original purpose or intent. Imitation is the best form of flattery as well so perhaps that is why these classics continual find themselves being brought to the forefront of more modern times.

If I ever were to say yes (which is about as likely as I am to live on Mars without life support means) I’d probably want to have some beautiful classical music to accompany the guests. And knowing Beloved, he’d pick an aria to start off with as well. (It’s probably for the best that I say no when he asks and when he asks he is not looking for an affirmative answer.)

Food, Torture And New Diets

A friend of Beloved’s was recently told to scale back on his dairy intake, reduce his sugar and avoid all things gluten.  Or as Beloved put it, he’s been told to starve.  Okay so that’s a bit drastic, but if you eat like Beloved and enjoy the food that Beloved enjoys, it could see, as though you’d starve.

You would think, based on Beloved’s response, that he was the one who was told to cut back.  You see if he could, Beloved would live off of potatoes and scones slathered in butter.  He would make a meal out of cake and buttercream.  Oh sure he’d have some meat and veggies, provided he could have cheese with that, however butter would be a common theme.  If he could, Beloved would have butter for all his meals and snacks.

And there is no denying that Beloved can have a sweet tooth that rivals the largest of sweet tooth around the world.

And now Beloved is trying to find a way to create a reduced dairy and sugar meal with no gluten.  So he can have his friend over for a meal.  Beloved is struggling with finding the recipes that will work and ones he still finds tasty too.  The two meals he made so far have been, well, less than stellar.  And let’s not even go near the desserts because not even the garbage was happy with his renditions.

Precious Places

The four-footed one has found new hiding places for her treasures. These hiding places are scattered throughout the house, just to ensure they aren’t all found or raided at the same time.  And she’s made certain these hiding places are not human friendly.

And by not human friendly I mean places that I do not fit into easily.  Such as under the chairs or behind the bed.  In all fairness she doesn’t fully fit into these spots either which is why we came to learn about them.  You see she “lost” her precious far beneath one of the chairs and out of sheer desperation she sought help.  From her human.

She took me to the chair, and anxiously started dancing around.  Now I know there are some folks out there who can read their dogs and know what the dancing means.  I am not one of those people.  It took me a few moments.

Okay so I got down on the floor to see thing so room her level.  And made the discovery of a life time.  Or so you’d think by how she was behaving.  There it was.  Her precious far under the chair.  Beyond the reach of her paw.  Not, however, beyond the reach of her human’s arm.

After rescuing her precious, I started watching her in various rooms in the house.  Sure enough, just about every room has a special hiding place.   Some will prove challenging if she pushes her precious items too far in these spaces.  But a dog has to do what a dog has to do when a precious could be “lost”.  And if that means letting a human know where the place is, so be it.  She will probably find a new place anyway.

Survival Boxing

Beloved’s sister has decided that we are once again dying for food, or at least he is dying for food from back home. Two large boxes were dropped off in the post today. Boxes that the mailman carried into my house, one at a time. Boxes that the mailman said were heavy. Boxes that said things like “fragile”, “this side up” and a long listing on the declaration from customs.

I’m pretty certain his family believes that if he doesn’t get food “smuggled” from home he will simply die. As if there is no other country that has food to sustain his health. Judging from the looks of Beloved, not to mention the way his buttons are on some of his shirts, I’d say he is amply sustained these days. (He went on a binge of trying new restaurants and insisted on tasting all their baked items at the same time. He has assured me the next binge he will go on is one called walking.)

I left the two boxes where the mailman had placed the, it was after all, as good a spot as any in the house. Beloved would no doubt open them up, remove the contents and then deal with the boxes once he got home, except the four-footed one was having none of this.

She is not the most patient of individuals in this house. But she lacks things called thumbs, which are crucial to opening boxes effectively. She settled for using something called teeth because she has a fair number of them. I figured the boxes would be safe because of how large they were.

I figured wrong though. Within a few minutes the four-footed one was spitting chewed up cardboard onto my carpet and she was proudly protecting the hole she had made in the first box. It wasn’t a large hole, but enough of one for her nose to wiggle into which allowed her to inhale all the different scents of food. Have you ever tried to keep a determined dog away from the source of delicious food scents? It isn’t easy!

That’s why the second box also ended up getting bitten before Beloved came home. I told him that the four-footed one was helping him by creating starter holes he could rip from. (He was not impressed with my logic.)

Thankfully the boxes have been dealt with, now if next time she could send some more storage space, like a whole other room…

Say Cheese

Someone ate my cheese. They didn’t just move it, they ate it. All of it. And I’m not impressed. Because the thing is, I enjoy cheese. I like cheese. I could almost marry cheese. And someone ate the cheese I had set aside for myself. It wasn’t left out in the open. It wasn’t in an area where a free fall would occur. And yet, today when I went to get a piece of cheese, it was gone and in it’s place a typed note telling me my cheese was delicious.

Stuff like this can ruin a girl’s day. Or make an already less than awesome day even less than awesome. Especially if the girl has been reminding herself that no matter how horrible the day has been, there is a nice piece of cheese waiting for her at home. A piece of cheese waiting to be savored and worshipped.

And someone ate it. Not a portion of it. This person did not even leave me a sample, a small taste of what was consumed. Instead I was left with a note and a broken heart. And I don’t care if it is a sign that I’m not as flexible as I should be. I also don’t care what it means in terms of psychology that I’m upset over someone consuming my cheese. Nothing is going to fix this, expect to see the perpetrator caught and justice served. I’d settle for revenge though, nice and cold. With a piece of good cheese.