Toddson, that reminds me of the wonderfully-named food delivery service north of us called "Munchie Dude" ("Need food? Call on the Dude!"). Several of their ads are just this side of "If you're gonna get baked, stay the hell off the road and let us bring you snacks."

So it looks as if the PA-C working with my doctor is taking over my routine care, which makes sense - she's the clinic director and it's been a bit of a year. I'm only here for another 15 months, there's no point in getting salty about it, but I'll miss the Elephant Trampler and her cheerfully messed up bedside manner. This is the doctor who reacted to the crepitus in my knees with howls of horror, said "I'm not sure what's going on, but it's not an infection, so here's your flu shot: let your systems fight it out" during an exam (for what turned out to be pelvic floor issues, and she was awesome about "You need all the physical therapy! Don't use ours, they're crap, go over here and I'll call ahead for you" once I'd seen a specialist), and whose reaction to an in-office procedure was "You're not bleeding. Why aren't you bleeding? I've already got a note in your file that you're an alien . . . ."

Getting stoned and having someone deliver tater tots to me would be just dandy. Alas, that isn't on the agenda today.

You're not bleeding. Why aren't you bleeding? I've already got a note in your file that you're an alien . . . ."

Ha, that reminds me that I had full intentions of telling my PCP that the tech gasped when she did my carotid ultrasound yesterday to mess with him, but alas they were too fast sending results so I missed the chance. FTR, arteries are clean as a whistle despite my crap cholesterol.

Soon after marijuana was legalized, I saw a picture of the outside of one distribution centers ... with a Girl Scout cookie selling table right outside. I imagine the girls broke all sales records, although I understand it was prohibited in later years.

Now I want tater tots. I don't even have the excuse of being stoned. I just want them.

I thought that was a permanent state ... but I admit I might be wrong.

In happier news, and yet it flies.

Laura, hee! Dr. C. said later that most of her patients are on some form of blood thinner ("Not you, though, you big weirdo") and she was used to a bit more of a clean-up needed.

Toddson, we've only got the one store locally and it's in an industrial park mid-island, but I'll bet the local troop would do a rocking business.

How about some good news?

As I've related here, Matilda has had a really difficult year. On top of all the other losses from COVID (her grandfather, time with Emmett, ruptured friendships, school) she consistently had her hopes dashed as well: didn't get into SotA, wasn't assigned a high school until after the school year started, not a school that any of her friends were attending, her beloved summer camp cancelled the last two years she was eligible to go.

Matilda and several of her friends had applied for jobs with Rec and Parks this summer. These jobs are highly coveted by City teens, and very hard to get.

When she got the email notification that she wasn't properly qualified (with a list of reasons), JZ saw that she WAS in fact qualified on every count, and called them up. They reinstated her status as Eligible, and maybe because of that course correction, she got a Zoom job interview.

Zoom interview went pretty well (once she got over modest inability to enumerate her virtues), and we were waiting to hear back from them.

And we waited. And I started to wonder what the process was exactly.

Then Saturday night, after I put her to bed, I was watching some TV and winding down around midnight and she comes out of her room and says, "I opened up my computer to listen to ASMR and I think I got a summer job!"

So I look at the email and the first thing I notice is that it's an automatic reminder that she hasn't turned her forms in yet.

"Haven't you been checking your email?" I ask.

"I've been too stressed out about end of grading period at school."

Now if you thought that I handled this in a mature and calm manner after a year of sleepless nights trying to find One Good Thing for Matilda and I now have the panicky feeling that she's left a job offer without a response then you would be wrong.

I fucking lost my shit.

Much yelling (waking up JZ) and frantic searches through her email reveals that she had gotten the job offer 8 days before!!!

More yelling. Matilda is crying.

The idea that we finally have one good thing in Matilda's life where she didn't get rejected, after a year of depression, anxiety and defeats and we might have lost it because we're past a deadline was way beyond my capacity to deal with calmly.

I finally find the first email with the job offer, and - phew!!! - the Position Assignment meeting is not until May 1st.

Exhale.

Then another search reveals that all these automated forms we need to fill out are due by Monday the 19th. (This was on Saturday the 17th). So. We almost did miss the deadlines.

We pulled out all the insurance cards and phone contacts and completed everything with email confirmations congratulating us automatically and telling us what she needs for May 1st Position Assignment.

In short, we didn't fuck it up (barely) and now Matilda has a summer job as a camp counselor.

In short, we didn't fuck it up (barely) and now Matilda has a summer job as a camp counselor.

Well, good.

Do you think Matilda learned the lesson?

Do you think Matilda learned the lesson?

If you're asking if I traumatized her enough to check her email daily, then I would say yes.

Yay, Matilda!

I just watched the drone on Mars and I'm just...that's Mars and I'm looking at it just as if it was somebody's camera on their porch showing me a raccoon. Mars!

I am thinking about picking up lunch on the way back from getting Stabbination #1 tomorrow (because my appointment is a county over so it's an excuse to get exotic foodstuffs from the other side of a bridge) and one of the restaurants I was considering has sweet potato tots so it is a string contender.