Because he is a shitty, shitty golfer, Laura. And he cheats.

Clearly he sucks at golf, but what I don't get is why he spends so much time at something he so clearly will never do well. Do they tell him the higher the score the better?

If you are looking at DNA to match family members then DNA Painter is a really good tool for helping narrow down the probabilities for how the match is related.

[link]

Different cM numbers point to probabilities and the sites like Ancestry and 23 and Me just present the likely one and don't really do the deeper dive into half cousins and half siblings and things like that.

Yay meds!

(here begins political venting) Now that my head is out of the semester (for an hour or two), I am so mad about the annexation. Not just that it's somehow a possibility (what the...) - but that only very few people know right now if it'll happen tomorrow, and if it'll happen, what will happen and why. Seriously. Most people currently have no idea how it'll look like because nobody said to the public how things will look like. Again, starting tomorrow. Which starts in less than four hours. Hi, not like it has anything to do with people's lives, law, or international consequences, right?

Seriously, my country. Seriously. (here ends political venting. Apologies, it seems like I forgot how to use tags).

Edited because I can't use tags anymore

It's anxiety attack Tuesday, apparently. How are you all doing?

I'm typing this after stuffing a bunch of chocolate in my face. I'm totally coping, sure!

I have a dr. appointment tomorrow, partially because I've been exhausted for months and I want to make sure it's just from ongoing existential dread and not anything "serious", but also because I've had an ongoing issue of my throat becoming painful and having to be careful when I swallow food to avoid a "trapped" feeling. I'm pretty sure it's a muscle tension thing (mostly because it only kicks up later in the day into the evening), but I'm trying to be an adult about getting health issues checked out.

But the Madwoman in the attic made me a fancy new mask (red and black brocade with red elastic straps) to wear to the appointment.

I'm having kind of a bad time. I had to move out of the apartment I've lived in for 34 years ... that's literally half my life. Longest I've ever lived anywhere. I didn't want to move, but the building had been purchased by a developer and they were planning on doing a complete renovation. The building needed it, but if I stayed it would have meant living in a construction zone for ... well, anywhere up to 18 months. The rents were going to go very high ... the new owner said that carryover tenants would be kept at their current rent, with annual increases, but I'm wary of trusting them. I wonder how long would it take for rents to be raised to the market rate or, alternatively, would they create two tiers of tenants - those who came in at the market rate and the carryovers who might be denied certain amenities.

So I found a new place - rent's affordable, it's possibly larger than the old place, although with a lot less closet space. I began clearing stuff out - clothing went to a charity (they would pick up stuff!), a lot of books went to another charity. Then everything closed down and no one was accepting donations. But I kept getting rid of stuff. Scheduled a moving date - found a mover who was highly recommended - and started packing. I was reluctant to move, so I procrastinated a lot. And my body just gave out - I couldn't get everything packed by the moving date. Then the movers came over an hour early. I worked with them a little, then they told me to go ahead to the new place and they'd follow with what was packed.

They brought over the furniture, boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff. Put down the rugs I'd had delivered. And I collapsed. Realized that the movers had not brought over the antenna for the TV or the DVD player (which I'd seen them load onto one of their moving carts) or the turntable, ditto. There were some other things I'd wanted moved that they'd left behind. Got some sleep, then the next day, went back to the old apartment to see what I could collect and carry over to the new place or just get rid of.

At the old place it looked like the movers had gone on some kind of rampage. Some toiletries from the bathroom cabinet were on the floor. Some clothing I hadn't gotten packed was tossed on the floor. A pair of boots in a box had been opened and tossed on the floor. A cabinet had been opened. The refrigerator was opened and left open (I'd offered them cold bottled water ... they didn't take any, but opened the refrigerator and left it that way). Then I looked at some built in bookshelves and realized my father's clock was missing. It was an Atmos clock - which would be valuable, except it never worked. It might still be salable, but it was very decorative and had some sentimental value - it was one my father's company gave him to mark 25 years with the company. I've asked the moving company about it ... but I'll probably never see it again, which is infuriating and just makes me sad.

Meanwhile, I've had to schedule ANOTHER move and hire the company to pack me up and move me (I'm sticking with the same company in the faint hope that the clock will turn up). So I have to file for reserved parking spaces, go through this maddening process to get space and signage, etc., plus reserving an elevator at both places and the loading dock at the new place (old one doesn't have one). I'm exhausted, everything hurts, I still have to go into the office every day for a full eight-hour day (although transportation has gotten easier and less time consuming). I don't have dishes, flatware or food at the new place. I'm just ... overwhelmed.

Oh, Toddson. That is a lot. I'm sorry.

Ohmigosh, Todd! No wonder! I'm exhausted reading all that!

...And I have nothing else to offer, other than: Your feelings are valid, whatever you have to do to get through is the correct choice, I really hope it can be completed with no further hiccups, I really hope your missing stuff turns up soon, and I really hope you treat yourself to takeout (including indulgent dessert, or booze, or both, as your particular tastes and emotional state dictates) tonight.

In better news, I just heard from my niece who goes to Sarah Lawrence and apparently she's moving into an apartment on the Upper West Side 3 blocks from the park. With her friend, which I think means boyfriend, I heard she's been staying at his place since she couldn't be on campus. Anyway, I don't understand how she managed that, but good for her, right?

Toddson, did the original shitty movers have insurance? I know it won't replace the sentimental value of what was lost but you should absolutely sue the living crap out of them if you have the spoons to do so.