The hot weather is upon us and I still don’t have my spring work on the yard caught up. I blame the mosquitoes, which mean it’s not comfortable to work outside when it’s cool. In the meantime I have so many things I want to do on the computer that I can’t keep up with that either. And there are many small things that got pushed over from the winter because it was too cold to paint or caulk, but are being urged on us by the need to prepare for next winter’s cold. They say to expect natural gas to cost 300% of what it cost last winter. Last winter’s bill was $130 a month.
I want to move furniture around quite radically, mostly because this house is sinking in the middle so I need to get bookcases to the outside walls. (Part of the trouble is structural and part of it is major truck traffic past the house up to the airport where there is an ag chem business. I also somewhat blame the floor furnace, which prevents me from closing the front room off from heat as well as putting weight in a doorway -- not a good idea structurally.) No money for shoring up the floor.
So I’m going to pull back from my self-assigned thousand words a day and blog on the same days as watering is allowed on my side of town. That’s Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday between 6AM and 10AM, so I'm up to move the sprinkler anyway. But if I get a brilliant idea, I won’t prevent myself from posting.
I need some time to improve my technical skills, like learning to do podcasts, and preparing better laid-out books for Lulu.com. And I need to do a more serious job of promotion on those books. I’d like to prepare some workshop presentations for venues like Blackfeet Community College, since my purpose in doing these Blackfeet books is to pull in Blackfeet themselves and get them writing. So I need time to prepare materials before fall.
In the meantime, a simple decision to have an overdue mammogram has pitched me into a morass of phone calls, file searches, uncomprehending conversations, and etc. First, the Care Center 800-phone doesn’t ring. Not even the operator can hear anything. Second, the other phone is busy for an hour. Then it turns out to be the wrong number. The right number answers (after a phone labyrinth) and must pass me on to the radiologist but there are two kinds and she guessed the wrong one, so wait for transfer. An unintelligible fast talker answers. One cannot have a mammogram without the last previous one to compare with it. The last was more than a decade ago and in Portland. I must call.
I get someone in Portland (after another labyrinth) who instantly knows my name. (How does THAT happen??) I must fax permission. (No fax.) Can I email? No, they have no email. They don’t want to send to a PO Box but that’s how we get our mail in Valier. I must mail permission. Etc.
You know how it goes. By this time I feel as though I ought to get my head examined for ever wanting a mammogram in the first place. I move to a small town to simplify my life and the tentacles come reaching out, grabbing and groping, hoping to get more money out of me. There is no more money.
Surely this is the second Dark Ages.