We all have them – a day or a week or a month where it seems like everything that can go wrong, DOES go wrong. And they don’t have to be big things, just a bunch of little setbacks or disappointments is enough to really annoy us. I try to be patient and to just take things in stride. “That’s okay, I understand,” or “Well, that’s life!” But, as the things begin to pile up, the little devil inside crawls up onto my shoulder and whispers “Stop being so damned nice! It’s not okay! Don’t let them get away with it! Kick someone! Smack someone! Show them you’re not weenie!” This past week has been such a week for me.
It started out looking good. On Tuesday the weather was nice enough that I could finally take Jilly (my car) to the car wash to get rid of all the mud and dirt that had accumulated on her sides from the snow. It was seven bucks, but worth every penny. When she pulled out, she looked gorgeous, all shiny and pretty. Then I met my friend, Charles, for lunch. This was really a treat because we hadn’t been able to keep our regular schedule lately, due to my Prednisone puffy face and then later, the oral surgery. We sat there chattering like the two close friends we are.
Then I went home. End of cheery week. I got a call from my dentist’s office. About a week ago I had gotten impressions taken for what they call a “treatment partial.” What this is is a temporary partial containing three molars which will enable me to actually chew food on both sides of my mouth for the three months I am waiting for my dental implants to grow in. When they had told me it would take about two weeks for it to be ready, I wasn’t thrilled, but, hey! What was I gonna do? So anyway on Tuesday they call to tell me that the lab “had a problem” with the impression and thus I would have to come back in Wednesday to get impressions re-taken! Oh great! Of course I was gracious about it, but my little devil was fuming. “So now how long will it take?” she asked. “Don’t they realize that you really need those teeth to eat? You know, I don’t think they care about what you have to go through. I really don’t!”
So Wednesday I wake up to fog warnings on the news. I looked out the window and, sure enough, the fog outside was thicker than I’d ever seen it. Nonetheless, nothing was going to stand between me and my teeth! Aren’t I the woman who went out in the blizzard to have oral surgery? Oh yes I am!. So I gingerly hit the road a bit early to run an errand first. Whoa! One thing I had forgotten about driving in thick fog is that, not being able to see any signs or landmarks, you lose all sense of perspective. It was actually quite scary. I was heading to Walgreens but after a while I began to think I would end up in the next state over. Fortunately I finally saw some traffic and joined a conga line of cars. However, heading back to the dentist’s office I saw the turn when I was well past it, and had to turn around and go back. The gal at the office had told me that it would only take a few minutes so I didn’t bring my Kindle. Naturally I ended up having to wait ten minutes. (“And no one apologized!” the devil-me pointed out.) The office manager still thinks I’ll get the partial this coming Thursday, but I will be mighty surprised if I do.
When I inched my way back home and got Jilly into the garage, I noticed something discouraging. She was totally filthy again! Seven bucks down the drain, just like that! (“It was the dentist office’s fault! my little devil pointed out. “If they hadn’t called you in, you wouldn’t have gone out in this stuff and Jilly wouldn’t have been splashed the way she was. You ought to kick those people’s asses! “)
Thursday I had a 2:15 appointment with my eye doctor/surgeon. He’s the one that told me that I needed to have appointments every six weeks to see if my eyes have stabilized. Once he has three stable readings, he can do surgery and maybe, just maybe, I can join the world of normal vision once more. This appointment was for the second reading. They had already set it up for seven weeks because he had something scheduled the week before, so I was more than eager. Then the phone rang at 9:30. Bad sign. It was his office, calling to tell me he had a “family emergency” and I would have to be rescheduled for next week. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that!” I said, nice as can be. Meanwhile, my devil-me was saying, “Family emergency, my foot! Ten to one he’s playing golf!” So now the second reading will be at eight weeks. In a situation where hope is always retreating, it was just one more blow.
I could go on and tell you how on Friday my grocery store was out of three things I regularly use for the third week in a row, but what’s the point? Obviously I’m going to have to break up with that store. I just need to work myself up to it.
The devil-me is getting disgusted with me. She wants me to bitch more, to raise a stink now and then. She thinks people are rolling right over me. And she could be right. I don’t know. I’d rather not argue with her.
Believe me, she’s not someone you want for an enemy!