There are some days I'd swear are totally snakebit, and this was one of them. The tone was set early, when my allegedly newly-repaired water heater disgorged the usual quantity of water, but the temperature was somewhere between tepid and frosty. Yes, it was working last night. A different tech was on call today, and he determined that his coworker had gotten the last good click out of the little piezoelectric gizmo that's supposed to ignite the gas. He duly replaced the gizmo, and then gave me the de rigueur Old Appliance speech: all the stuff that had to be brought up to code last decade will have to be brought up to code again this decade. Which figures, right? No regulatory agency is ever going to let the existing standards stand; why, they might not even get an increase in their budget next year!
I took that well, considering. The last thing that happened before I left work: a file I was trying to rename somehow got printed instead, all sixteen pages of it — and page 13 jammed up inside the printer, accompanied by disturbing sounds, half stuck lever and half Bronx cheer. I swore at it; simultaneously, a coworker entered the premises, and I swore at her, and she'd done nothing to offend me.
Of late, my collars are getting hot under a lot more often than they used to. I'm not sure why this should be happening, unless it's a byproduct of my growing incapacities; I wasn't exactly suffering in silence when I could walk to the bus stop and back, but knowing I can't do that anymore, and suspecting I may never be able to do that again, surely doesn't help matters. The fact that it takes me three times as long as it used to for me to put on a pair of shoes is exasperating as all hell, and exasperation at seven in the morning is about twice as annoying as exasperation at sunset, except for that brief period during the winter when sunset occurs around 5:30 or so and the big orange ball, when it's not obscured by clouds, glares right into my face at my freeway exit, while what had been 60-mph traffic slows down to about half that. The arrival of daylight saving time in the spring eliminates this problem entirely, but puts the orange ball in my face on the way to work instead of on the way home. This does not strike me as an improvement.
But then again, maybe I should STFU. I just got off Facebook, where an old friend — he's nine months younger — is showing off his new wheels.
More precisely, it's a wheelchair.
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