a/c covers & more...
Friday was a day of confusion, save for Dawn on Pluto. I woke up around 5:20, got up a little closer to 6:00. At least the Lunesta has me sleeping better than nothing, & this morning, 10 to 7:00, so perhaps this symptom has been ameliorating.
Pancakes? Yeah. Made 'em too spongy, which often induces Trish to pour on extra syrup.
No bacon. No eggs. Pancakes.
If Trish weren't so "paranoid" of grease, we could have bacon.
Her mom eats eggs with everything.
Once she'd started on the long road to Pizza Hut, my usual typewriter torment began: there are new aspects to Pluto, there is mourning thru-out the stars, dark entities which move so slowly.
About the time Trish showed up & began to change her clothes, Fred rang the doorbell -- "shit! That's either Kim or Fred!"
Fred wanted to go out to Wal-Mart to pick up some a/c covers. We went to the bank, deposited the 400 buckadingdong tax payback, then took out $20 for Trish. At Wally World, Trish headed out, looking for groceries while Fred & I went off looking for a/c covers. He wanted an expensive window weatherization kit, but I was uncertain it'd cover up the a/c, so I finally spent 10 buckadingdongs on a couple plastic covers, then met Trish in the eatery, chocolate pastry, some guy with Parkinson's engaging in a conversation with Fred. Trish eventually returned with a cart full of groceries.
The a/c covers turned out to be cheaper than I even thought they would. We may need to find something in the City of Electric Light.
In October. Same month as the Hopeless State Conference.
The sudden interruption to our schedule caused Trish to forget her refills. Enough "inflammatory" until Monday morning. Risperdal? She can have mine.
Can I drop the Risperdal? I have the Abilify to carry on. Both ends burning.
All the walking around, though Fred pushed me in a wheelchair, had my foot shooting pains. & too tired to cook, so we ordered a single-topping pan pizza. Half nummy treats: pepperoni; other half, Canadian bacon: Trish hates pepperoni.
Some dishwashing, then the inevitable TV. I had Trish put in the 2nd Charlie's Angels, then channel-surfed. We put in a tape to record Flash Gordon on Skiffy.
After we went to bed, some kind of argument about Kim erupted. I said, "What about Kim?" without realizing it, which produced a lot of anger.
Trish's opinions on the woman vacillate so wildly that I don't know if Trish loves or hates Kim. I just want to escape from accusations.
Mostly, I need Viagra/Levitra/Cialis & a Philip K. Fantasy to shoot 20 feet of jissem. I wish this wasn't so, it is,don't know quite what to do. Get off the Risperdal. I don't really think I need the drug salad I'm on.
Won't quit without professional advice, though. Only burnt out ash-Scooby men in Narcoholics Numinous do that: "the Program: a kind of recipe, a cookbook for living." Something you have to defy with all your might. Them, & the Science of Church-a-tology.
Pancakes? Yeah. Made 'em too spongy, which often induces Trish to pour on extra syrup.
No bacon. No eggs. Pancakes.
If Trish weren't so "paranoid" of grease, we could have bacon.
Her mom eats eggs with everything.
Once she'd started on the long road to Pizza Hut, my usual typewriter torment began: there are new aspects to Pluto, there is mourning thru-out the stars, dark entities which move so slowly.
About the time Trish showed up & began to change her clothes, Fred rang the doorbell -- "shit! That's either Kim or Fred!"
Fred wanted to go out to Wal-Mart to pick up some a/c covers. We went to the bank, deposited the 400 buckadingdong tax payback, then took out $20 for Trish. At Wally World, Trish headed out, looking for groceries while Fred & I went off looking for a/c covers. He wanted an expensive window weatherization kit, but I was uncertain it'd cover up the a/c, so I finally spent 10 buckadingdongs on a couple plastic covers, then met Trish in the eatery, chocolate pastry, some guy with Parkinson's engaging in a conversation with Fred. Trish eventually returned with a cart full of groceries.
The a/c covers turned out to be cheaper than I even thought they would. We may need to find something in the City of Electric Light.
In October. Same month as the Hopeless State Conference.
The sudden interruption to our schedule caused Trish to forget her refills. Enough "inflammatory" until Monday morning. Risperdal? She can have mine.
Can I drop the Risperdal? I have the Abilify to carry on. Both ends burning.
All the walking around, though Fred pushed me in a wheelchair, had my foot shooting pains. & too tired to cook, so we ordered a single-topping pan pizza. Half nummy treats: pepperoni; other half, Canadian bacon: Trish hates pepperoni.
Some dishwashing, then the inevitable TV. I had Trish put in the 2nd Charlie's Angels, then channel-surfed. We put in a tape to record Flash Gordon on Skiffy.
After we went to bed, some kind of argument about Kim erupted. I said, "What about Kim?" without realizing it, which produced a lot of anger.
Trish's opinions on the woman vacillate so wildly that I don't know if Trish loves or hates Kim. I just want to escape from accusations.
Mostly, I need Viagra/Levitra/Cialis & a Philip K. Fantasy to shoot 20 feet of jissem. I wish this wasn't so, it is,don't know quite what to do. Get off the Risperdal. I don't really think I need the drug salad I'm on.
Won't quit without professional advice, though. Only burnt out ash-Scooby men in Narcoholics Numinous do that: "the Program: a kind of recipe, a cookbook for living." Something you have to defy with all your might. Them, & the Science of Church-a-tology.
1 Comments:
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