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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Regular readers know that I live adjacent to the teeny village of Dementia-ville. Residing therein is one full-time resident whose brain and mobility have been eroded by dementia, and rotating boarders who come to aid her. The village, known for its jungle noises and barnyard smells, is proportionally small compared to the rest of my house. Yet this little enclave is greedily outsized in its physical, emotional, and spiritual drain.

~~ The latest aide says she needs an item for the patient, so the errand is run. When said item is handed over, a list of other supplies is provided in exchange. What the hell? Why would you ask for one thing from the store and then ask for a half-dozen more once the shopping run is done? “Oh, I didn’t have time then to write out the list.”

~~ As I write, there’s a mismatched and most unmusical series of noises emanating from Dementia-ville. There’s the boop-boop-boop of the microwave (seriously, what are you cooking that needs around 17 boops on a machine that has only a few settings?), the grunting that will soon create a steel-door penetrating aroma, and the hip-shaking sounds of what I believe is a music video on Haitian TV. More noises will follow in short order, but I am too damn worn out to write them down.

~~ Though no one would ever deem me cheery, I sometimes have moments of jauntiness or even flat-out exuberance. This, readers, is not one of those moments. I know ‘tis the season and all that, but there’s snow outside my window, I’m two deep into sweatshirts and thick socks, there’s very little sunlight and even less income. I suffer from seasonal affected disorder and chafe against privation. Net neutrality is dead, I won’t be able to afford to pay my taxes next year unless the 1% trickles down on me, the Arctic Wildlife Refuge will be drilled into oblivion, the federal government is overrun with pirates, fascism is on the rise, rapists and assholes are being given equivalent treatment, I’ve been knitting like a crazed person to fulfill holiday gifts and warm the necks of those who have far less than me, and every other fricking person is coughing or sneezing.

~~ Overheard: “She really, really has her nose up in the air and both feet up his ass.” [No illustration available.]

~~ After yoga class, I heard a man apologizing to the woman on the mat next to him. Apparently, he stuck out his leg in a non-directed direction and clipped her in the back of the head. She tried to reassure him that “it happens all the time,” which puzzled me. Did she mean people kick her all the time in yoga… or in real life? And wherever it happens, it happens frequently?

~~ Good riddance to Omarosa what’s-her-name. I remember her saying we’d all have to bow down to tRump and her fondness for calling herself “Honorable,” but what the hell did she do for $185,000?

~~ The message from a very new acquaintance wished me a “very happy Chanka and a good strong life.” That’s kinda nice.



Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend.
J!-E!-T!-S! JETS! JETS! JETS!
LET’S GO RANGERS!
GO, NY KNICKS, GO!

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