Laundry has become a problem recently. There are more tenants competing for fewer facilities. One day last week, one of two washing machines was removed. Yay, making room for a new machine! But wrong. Removed to that masculine lair of "the workroom" for repair. It has been "broken" for the entire year plus I've lived here. It makes a great deal of noise on one of its cycles.
Personally, I would call the GE guy. I had a magnificent Maytag repair guy back in the township. I had him for forty years. Well, him, then his son. But that isn't how they do things here. So, since the only machine is in use, I set my timer for forty five minutes, and then I'll go look.
In the meantime, I have a car. Actually, it's closer to a tank. In the week or so it has lived out in the parking lot, I've driven through a tank of gas, keeping appointments. The worst was the Reclast infusion. I have no problem with needles and stuff dripping into my veins. I do have a problem with time expended and side effects.
My doctor assured me this second drip of Reclast would not be painful. Not the infusion, but the day after. Last time my housemate gave me a Tylenol with codeine, from her stash. "Oh, don't worry. There are few to no side effects the second time!" said my doctor. Liar, liar, pants ablaze.
Since he is so far away from me, a long drive south, I've decided to ask for an endocrinologist at the local clinic. I've been doing that for the rest of my specialists, and soon I'll be driving fifteen minutes for most of my doctor appointments. It will be sad to leave many of my current doctors, but not all.
My endocrinologist, for example. When I first found him, it was by reading reviews carefully. When he turned out to be exactly as described, I recommended my sister to him. We've both been satisfied patients for forty years. But he has really upset me of late, Reclast not the least of his "sins", and a change is in order.
My laundry has been swishing away these last forty minutes, and I had a nice chat with Marty, the woman ahead of me. She began so defensively I was sad. I do like her and know so little about her. So I asked about her background, and learned she had been a teacher and a home maker. That seems to be the history of so many here. No really kindred souls.
It set me searching about for something else in my immediate surroundings to make me smile. That would be Kitty. She has two toys with balls. One is four tiers, a ball on each tier. The other is flat, with a cardboard scratching pad in the middle. The former was the first, and it was an immediate success. She tackled it, wrestled it to the ground, rolled over and over, attempting to tackle all four balls at one time. She often woke me at night with the sound of the balls.
Then I decided she needed more scratching opportunities than my sofa, and bought the flat unit. She abandoned the other unit for this. It was pushed half under the chair to make way for the vacuum, and this is her favorite place. She spends half or more of each day's play time subduing the entire unit. Sometimes she attacks from behind the chair leg, sometimes around it, a paw on each side. And sometimes she simply lays around and pats the ball from side to side. To side to side to side to side. And I fall asleep.