All I have done today is to take a walk and clean up after the dogs and sit here staring at the keyboard and wondering why I can't write.
I have now exiled the dogs to the porch. They will pee and poop out here and then I will kill them and then my problems will be over.
Well, the problems concerning dogs.
I am just overwhelmed. My mother's fucking insurance company is denying her claim for her need of assisted living. Turns out if you can get food to your own mouth, you probably don't need assisted living. Also? If you're not in diapers. So if you're continent, even if you can't use a washing machine or if you can fork up the calories, even if you couldn't get a meal together if your life depended on it, all those thousands and thousands of dollars you paid for insurance don't get handed back to you, baby.
I love how they write the letter to HER. As if she could make heads or tails of it. I love how they don't give a shit that you can't take your own meds or find your way to the lobby without guidance or remember when it's meal time or know what day it is or...
They are like honey badger. They don't care and they don't give a shit and someone should have read the fucking fine print.
Well. So there's that.
Beyond that, the dogs and the insurance company, I guess I have nothing at all to complain about. And yet, nothing at all is amusing me. No. We are not amused.
I need to take a shower. I smell like Satan's sulphurically scented elder sister. I look like her too.
Hopefully, the tide will turn, the moon will flip, the rivers will rise, the dogs will die, the insurance company will be brought to task, world peace shall spontaneously erupt, and we shall be amused again.