by Bella Rum
I have to tell you that I’m running out of gas. I’m ready for this to be over. I just want to be at the new house and left to my own devices: no demands, nowhere I have to be NOW, nothing I have to sign NOW, nothing that I have to scan and send NOW. We would have finished the painting days ago if we were left alone.
The doctor’s visit was a pain in the you know what. I had to wait. Then they had to change all of my insurance information and new address/phone information. I managed to get the new girl. I was very polite because I understood, but she took a full half hour to fill out two forms. It was excruciating… for both of us.
My doctor came in the examining room, sat down with his back to me, looked at the computer and said, “Well, of course, your weight is up there more than we would like.”
I said, “Of course, but I’ve lost quite a bit.” Nothing… and then, “Oh, yes. I see. Yes, that’s better. Well. Congratulations. That’s the right direction.”
Thanks so much, buddy.
Then H wanted me to get my INR checked, but I just couldn’t. When we saw how packed the parking lot was, even H said, “Forget it.” I’d had enough waiting around. I wanted to go back to the house and get down to work. I’ll do it Monday. No problems.
Today is the last day we will work at the new house. We’ll wrap things up at this house on Wednesday and Thursday. We still have a couple of things to take to Goodwill, and I have to pack everything that’s left in the kitchen. There isn’t much, but I’ll get everything but paper plates and plastic spoons and a couple of mugs. We already moved the top part of an antique hutch. The movers made us sign a waiver on our last move. They wanted no part of it. It has a large beveled mirror, and it’s an awkward piece.
I’ll do laundry on Thursday and pack it. I’ll fill our medication boxes this morning, and take the rest of our meds over to the new house. I wouldn’t want to lose track of them. There are a hundred little things like that, things that cannot be done until the very end… no matter how well you’ve planned.
I will never, ever accumulate this amount of stuff again. It feels so good to shed all of it. I feel like a crab when it sheds its shell, all soft and exposed, but filled with the knowledge that I’ll soon have a new shell that’s a much better fit.
We received the check from the auctioneer. It certainly wasn’t top dollar, but it was more than either of us expected. We’re happy with it. That’s what happens when you have low expectations. You’re pleased with the outcome. It was nice for someone to finally give us some money instead of the other way around.
How boring is all this minutiae? I bet you’ll be as happy as I will be when this is over.
H’s Medicare and supplement paid for his entire surgery. Yep. I can’t wait to see what they pay on my eye injection. I usually have to pay $350. I originally had an appointment to get the last one in April, but I asked them to push it up a couple of weeks into May because my birthday falls in May. I turned 65 a few days ago.
All of these nuisances are temporary, but I write about what’s happening around here, and this is it for now. I believe we’ve made the right decision for this next phase of life. We both love the new place. It’s a peaceful place, and we love the nature that surrounds it. It’s close to our doctors, hospital, stores, etc. Except for the two grackles that keep eating H’s suet, life is pretty good.
I shot some pix of the horses yesterday, but I left my camera over there. Soon.