Okay so maybe something went a little wrong yesterday but on a happy note some of the biscuits (cookies) made it to my mother in law’s house. And many made it home again because our cousin can’t eat gluten. Not in a faddish way, in the has the genuine medical problem sensible way.
Back to my tale before I get distracted again.
Do you know Mum’s dogs (even my two) are visiting because there is a spider covered in flyspray under a can in her house and she is out and none of us know what to do. Wait that is a distraction.
So to continue the story…
Mum came home and it was a female redback, a dead female redback admittedly, but still a redback, a female one. So she killed it some more, then killed it again to show the kids it was dead and started mopping an entire can of spray off the floor.
So Gavin is gadding about doing tests at hospital, while I grapple with a problem. How do I turn this full name of department and contact name into an address or phone number?
Okay it is a ridiculously small problem. Obviously I or my friend could use Google or a telephone book or any method really. But instead I dodged his phone calls for a while and did not email him the info that he had every reason to believe I already possessed and just forgot to type.
I know that this is going to drive him crazy and that it is cruel and unwarranted.
And not my normal cruelty which I think is hilarious and everybody loves. Shut up family you will love what I tell you to love.
Real cruelty. The guilt starts making me physically sick. I am actually haemorrhaging (on and off) out of pure stress. Because I can’t physically force myself to look up the damn number or to tell my friend what I’m doing.
2 days later and my husband hands me the phone. It’s my friend. Because I haven’t even admitted to my husband what I’ve been doing/avoiding.
BTW The tests on Gavin were vascular tests on his legs and the results were great, not as much damage as we all thought, and the damage he has is treatable, Yah.
I think we can all agree that that was no where near as irrelevant as my previous sidetracks.
So I am off the tracks and my wheels have dug into the soft sand so badly that the engine is now two foot under the ground. All due to a slight crack in the tracks.
On the phone I admit to all my misdeeds. Actually I only admitted to my misdeeds that pertained to the relevant situation. He is too innocent to hear all my misdeeds plus there is not enough time in the world, and that is what you guys are for.
And in order to force myself into action I faithfully promise to send him the info or an email explaining why I couldn’t and that I would see the D&D guy Tuesday anyway. It was Thursday evening.
On Sunday Tuesday’s D&D was cancelled.
Monday morning 1/2 an hour before my support worker (Not-Faye as Charlie calls her) I finally looked up the number and sent it. Along with 3 apology presents (links to really good You Tube thingies). All done 10 minutes; easy as.
My friend called a little later, confused as to why I sent apology presents and to double check that he was allowed to call the number. After all he is autistic.
All finished back on the rails. But there is the paperwork in the pile that I couldn’t touch for a week because it contained the piece of paper with the name, and the emails that have built up because if I’m on email I really should contact my friend. Sand is covering the track and it is really hard to get moving.
And most scarily of all, in all that sand there may be a pebble, a new obstacle to send me careening off the tracks again.
I found a letter form Centrelink (Social Security payments) its a form that needs to be filled in and returned within 21 days, its about my mother’s payments. It was sent in November.
Oh no this time I heading into mud and there is radioactive waste in the caboose.