Saturday, May 14, 2011


Manitoba is soggy. Send ark.

I'm still sick. I was supposed to go sandbagging today.

Dad called this morning, four minutes before my alarm was set to wake me up. He needed e-mail tech support. Bonus to doing Saturday morning tech support: my croaking convinced him that he didn't really need me for sandbagging. Downside: croaking is hard on the throat. (I sure hope I'm better before students start descending in hoards.)

Not being needed for sandbagging is good, because, besides the fact that my lungs are crap, my back has been acting up today. (For some reason, the ribs around and below my right shoulder blade hurt.)

A second CFL died tonight. (The first one died a week or so ago.) However, unlike the first one, this one is a more-expensive, tri-light bulb. It did prompt me to finally remove both bulbs, rinse the dust and dead bugs from the shades (the shades on both cup under the bulbs), and put a fresh bulb in the office. (I had been getting by on one.) However, I don't keep backup tri-light bulbs (expensive, and sold as singles), so that one will have to wait. Luckily I have an alternate light in the living room, although on the opposite side of the room from where I sit to knit and watch TV.

Dad called again for follow-up e-mail tech support. He was having dinner. Unlike when my brother does tech support for my mom & step-dad, who always gets a meal provided when he does tech support, apparently dinner isn't on offer to me. When I tried to weasel in on dinner, dad revealed he was calling from a restaurant, and wouldn't be home for an hour or so. *sigh* Since I want to do the follow-up support from his place, I told him to call again when he got home.

I forgot to ask if he got the dike high enough.

The apartment hallway smells foul. It's like a mixture of spilled alcohol, scented cleaning products, and smoke... but whether from cigarette or cigar (or something else), I can't tell. Between the smell and my back, this hasn't been my favourite day to be tromping to and from the laundry room.

Oh, and a follow-up on the taxes: apparently I shouldn't do computer taxes while sleep deprived (no one else had the software switch them to French), the government will send me a new Notice of Assessment in a language I *can* read, and the nice lady on the phone says my cereal box French is not that bad. (I tried reading out certain lines I had questions about.)

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