Sorry I missed Wednesday. Beat the alarm at 6:30. Took a rare, real long HOT shower. Ate breakfast and checked the list for the day. I make lists, otherwise stuff doesn’t get done. All I had was a doctor’s appointment, haircut, gas fill-up and a trip to Target. The doc was at 2:30 so being an intelligent adult I figured I could budget the time and get everything done. No chance. Fell asleep watching Comedy Central at 9:30 and woke up at one. Quick dressing and the car not balking at starting got me to the VA about fifteen minutes before my appointment. Brought my Nook and before it was up and working got called for BP and weight. Two surprises; weight is down and BP is low. I head back to the waiting room. The nurse calls me back and escorts me to my doctor’s office. She’s no nonsense and has my best interests at heart. We chat and she gets down to business. Weight is an issue and she basically tells me I know what to do and get off the stick. My blood sugar is a bit high, I fess up to chocolate snacking at night. Snacking my ass, I’m addicted. We work to a compromise. I’ll cut back and she won’t send me to a Diabetes Orientation class. Been there, done that. We go through my least favorite part, meds check. It entails going through all the meds prescribed by the doc and renewing or cancelling. It works out that one med was called in and not sent. She asks me why I didn’t call her or the pharmacy. All I can offer in my defense is I just assumed that the doc cancelled the meds. It goes back on the list. I have to pick the pills up. She types some more. We discuss my relationship with the cardiologist. I tell her it’s a once a year thing, nothing serious. We finish up, she’s reviewed note left by other doctors. She asks about my rash. I tell her it was a summer thing and I was over it. A thought creeps into the front of my brain. Ask if I can get Cialis. I don’t have a reason right now for it but you never can tell. I’ve gotten into a chatting relationship with some of the regular women who visit the supermarket when I do. Who knows. I’m sent home, or at least to the pharmacy. I wait for my name to come up on the TV screen. The Nook is up and working. I get through an essay by Nora Ephron and my name pops on the screen. I pick up my prescriptions four bottles. All that’s left is a trip to Stop and Shop. That’s when I became a participant in the asshat car rodeo. The drive from the VA to the market is about a half mile. The drive was unforgettable. Merging into traffic I almost get clipped by a left lane driver who wants to become a right lane driver. Thank God for American acceleration. It’s about 3:00 and others are trying to get home. The right turn to the supermarket is an exception in that the traffic goes from two lane to three with a separate lane for right turns. The Jeep driver was easing into the right lane. I noticed a left turn signal. The Jeep wanted to be a left lane driver, about ten feet from the stop light. A little digression; people who are going home after work are focused on the task, going home. They are reliant on the other drivers, many of whom they have built up a relationship with to follow the traffic and not do anything to jeopardize the whole. Except for the Jeep driver. He, or she made a try for access to the left lane, the driver behind notices and begins to evade the potential pile-up. My car is not large and I can understand why the driver following the Jeep pulled right. I nearly Al Rokered my pants. Did you know that some laws of physics can be bent? Yep. The PT Cruiser made it through a convenient gas station that I’d never paid a lot of attention to. I made it to the market. It was as uneventful as it possibly can be when a whole bunch of people have the same idea at the same time. I did my best not to become the idiot who explodes because their timing is bad. I almost made it. Despite my last post there were some thoughts of mayhem.

All of the above cancelled out any trips to the stylist or Target. That got done on Thursday. The hair came out shorter than I would have liked but “I want my hair to look like this only shorter. I don’t want it to look like I got a haircut.” is not a really great instructions to a new stylist. I knew she was new because the vets don’t make a lot of small talk and prefer to get the job done. You go to my stylist you get a quick haircut done to your specifications. Mine was new. She chatted. I didn’t mind. She was attractive, cheerful and she seemed to know what she was doing. Another digression; I get my hair cut when it pisses me off and there’s no amount of combing and brushing will keep it orderly. It was a quick scissors job. It looked good there. The stylist asked if I wanted my beard trimmed. I hate doing it so okay. I wanted about a half inch or so taken off. She cut it close. Closer than I liked. The image in the mirror showed a neck that needed work. It blended into my head. My chin was being overrun. When I was done, I left her a tip she thought was maybe too large. I explained; The tip covered a revelation on my part, good service and it was pro rated. If I came every four to six weeks the tip would have been smaller. I didn’t tell her I thought she was attractive and smelled divine. That would have been creepy.

Some music:

See you on Monday.