It's practically a blizzard out right now. Visibility is under 50 yards. Radar tells me it is just a strong band and it will be over soon, but eeks!
'Dirty Girls'
Natter 72: We Were Unprepared for This
Off-topic discussion. Wanna talk about corsets, duct tape, or physics? This is the place. Detailed discussion of any current-season TV must be whitefonted.
Connie, like, whoa. If anyone's gonna get superpowers from radiation, it'll be your Hubby.
Still I will take the cancer that got my Dad over the more than a decade decline into dementia and no mobility that my Mom is still going through.
This, a million times. I would take that end-of-life "option" for myself as well, although given my family history, it's more likely to be the bad one.
In vacation news, my face and arms are slightly sunburned and swollen after days of driving in bright sunshine, but today on the beach it was cloudy and cool and breezy and perfect.
Still I will take the cancer that got my Dad over the more than a decade decline into dementia and no mobility that my Mom is still going through.
Oh ND, I hadn't quite realized before how closely your parents' decline mirrored my parents'. I will always regret the specifics of my father's death (which involved a massive heart attack and a coma) but not the fact that his passing was quick.
God, dementia terrifies me. Or the failing of my abilities while my mind is still aware but unable to reach out. So many worse ways to go.
Heard over the wall:
re: something on the girl's desk: "OK, I'll tell you, but there's some backstory. See, I love garden gnomes--"
(someone else): "Hang on, I have to hear this backstory."
The older I get, the more firmly I believe that one of my grandfathers had nearly the best death possible: He was sick for six months, but not in pain until the last few days.
I am coloring my hair this morning, dang it! So damn sick of the greys, and I never have time to color if I wait until after dinner.
Aw, my grandboss's exec assistant just came by to see if, by any chance, I had any resources around [thing that is at least half of my job]. Poor noodle -- he was trying to teach himself how to do a thing I use a paid database for.
Oh, people. I get that computers can be intimidating, but when you call support to say that you can't log into my program, could you at least make sure that you have actually installed the program? And when I tell you to go to your email, that doesn't mean to just type your email address in some random search box and then act surprised when it doesn't work. How do people not know how to get to their own email? Oh, wait, it was an AOL address.
And how long must the world wait before people realize that if a box where you've just typed in information has an OK button, that you click the bloody OK button to continue?! Or, I don't know, the button that says Continue!
Could I get some tooth-ma? I find out shortly whether or not I do really need a root canal. If I do need one, I'll be getting it this afternoon.