After I sent him, I felt like I should have gone with him. I tried to get his attention, turned the porch lights on to call him back, but he didn't see it. He told me I could meet him there if I changed my mind. I'm not driving. I had a horrible time getting home on Friday. The pain was so blinding, I missed an easy turn nearly crashing into another driver (sorry about that, other driver on the road. My bad. I was actually headed the right way and had no call to abrubtly cross 2 lanes of traffic in front of you to turn off.) And then I made a lane change and there was a car in my blind spot. She didn't honk or anything, so I don't know how close she was, but I know I didn't expect her to pop up in my rear view mirror when completed the lane change. It might have been completely, who knows?
I don't know. I could go shopping. Oh, right. Not leaving the house. Not even to buy new stove bits. Hoppie isn't going shopping because I'm not going with him. So now I get to feel guilty about that. Worse than guilty, I have to arrange to go tomorrow. Just tack that onto the list of things. He's like "You don't really want me to go, do you?"
Thinking: "Um, yes. I told you yesterday I wanted to go on the way to your parents because I have a list of non-perishable things we need, and even though we can't buy perishables, I told you yesterday, I wanted to see if they stock the things we've been having a hard time finding at the store nearest us."
Saying: "No. Fine. Don't."
Him: "Well maybe I will, just to spite you."
Thinking: "Don't do me any favors, jackass. You don't have the list, and unless you're going to ask me for the list, the only thing you'll end up buying is something we don't actually need in a hurry and it will really piss me off if you return home and demand acclaim and reward for buying one blessed item at the grocery store."
Saying: Not necessary. Actually it came out more like "Not mumblefumble" because I have trouble with saying multisyablic words with a migrane. I can think them, and I can type them, well mostly, not so much on aim, really, because I get distracted easily, and take my fingers off the keys, and that's pretty much it, but I can type really well in livejournal.
And then he was gone.
And my head pounded for a few seconds, then I thought, maybe I should go. The house is glowing. That must mean he's still here with the lights, but he wasn't. He just left the lights on. I heard the garage open, so I ran to the front of the house and turned on the porch lights, so he'd know I was there, that I wanted to go with him, but he didn't even notice.
Tomorrow I will have to go shopping.
Get my oil changed.
Get a part for the stove.
I could probably do that now. Apparently not. My stove has a blank model number on the tag and the website is way to confusing for the mentally impaired. And before you ask, yes, that's how I think...even mentaly impaired. Of course if you asked me to read this to you, you'd get cotton candy mush. Yea, me, I figured it out. It's stamped on the tag in invisible ink, only visable in certain types of light. So now I'm looking at a digram of oven parts thinking, is this what hell is? Badly greyed diagrams with unreabable numbers and the future of food riding on my every decision.
And there's nothing quite like snarling and threatening the computer.
Error: According to our records, the address that you typed in the Registration page may be incorrect and co uld delay the arrival of your part. Please verify that your address below is correct.
Address I typed:
2 Streetname Circle
Address they suggest:
2 Streetname Cir
Are you people out of your freaking minds? Do you think I don't have enough people telling me what an idiot I am? Do you think I'm old enough to use a credit card, but not old enough to know my address? Is that what's troubling you, bucko?
Who is starting to think this is a bad idea, raise your hand?
So, not being able to enter my Sears gift card number on the order form, I decide to abandon the internet, and phone in my request. She happily takes my order and confirms that, no, they won't take my gift card, because it's a "retail" card and they're the parts shop. I'm at the midpoint of pain where I'm not well enough to demand a supervisor to berate, and not in enough to pain to insist on it by sheer force of my personality, undiminished by the trappings of civility. I'm starting to think I'll never use this gift card. That irritates me.
While I'm on the phone, I kick the Pats game on. In short order the New England Patriots, who up until this point have kicked a scant two field goals, suddenly realize that I'm watching and they should be impressive. They are. It works.
I start reading Faithful, which may be my 50th book. That would be fitting, wouldn't it? Cap of the year with the Red Sox, just as I've spent most of it. I remember when this book was announced. I was more than simply dismissive, I was openly contemptuous. I guess we know who gets the last laugh. I bought my copy today, and one for my mother-in-law (or my sister-in-law, probably I'll end up going back and getting a