Pain, suffering and other sad news from the front
So today I have woken up with a terribly bad earache and sore throat combination that by its very presence has rendered me nearly unable to face the world. It sucks. That's all I can say.
Yesterday in the world of the Southern Belle, the day was spent moving things in my kitchen around as my apartment complex decided that the appliances they installed somewhere circa 1973 were no longer working well enough (brainiacs all) and that new ones had to be put in. A group of sweaty men reached my door at 8:30 in the morning, and did not leave until almost 3 in the afternoon. Although I am excited about the fact that I can now bake a pie without having to worry that the crust will combust after 15 minutes in the oven, I still have all of my kitchen supplies just kind of laying in the dining room where I put them after I was forced to find them an alternative home. This also sucks. To make matters worse, in the midst of it all, the apartment manager, a woman who wears too much hairspray and sells Mary Kay make-up out of the back of her car, comes to view my apartment, which is not at its tip top best at the moment. Especially since I had to clean off the top of my refrigerator and every bottle of liquor/ wine I own was sitting on my dining room table. So now she thinks that I am some crazy fiendish alcoholic who never pays her rent on time and drives too fast over the speed bumps in the parking lot. I mean, she knew the other stuff, but the alcoholic bit just sets everything off real nice, don't you think? She continues to give me this strange look, kind of like the one I used to get from my elementary music teacher when I demanded to sing Tina Turner in lieu of The Star Spangled Banner. I feel thoroughly chastised.
I am off today, and it is a good thing, as I am not feeling well enough to single handedly take on the incredible sugar craving that grips my sweltering, crowded city. I am planning on doing my best to fix my kitchen again and watching an insane amount of TV. Sounds fun. Sadly fun.
And before I go, a bit of emotional questioning. At my lovely place of employment, we had an associate who was recently injured in a car accident. Really injured, as in, she is still unconscious. I didn't know her that well, and what I did know of her, I did not like. In fact, I had taken to making rude comments about her and dreading those times when I had to work the same shift as her. Now, I have these strange mixed feelings about the whole thing. A friend has asked if I would like to go to the hospital with her to see the girl, and I really don't want to go, but at the same time, I feel like I owe the girl something. I mean, she is younger than me, and could possibly die from this. However, I feel like going would put me in that same category of people who visit the hospital because they gain some sort of enjoyment from being close to tragedy. You know who I mean. I was not close to this girl, and I certainly don't want to act like it now that she is in bad shape. I don't know. I am really unsure how to feel about this tragedy. I mean, I feel bad for her because I don't want anyone to be hurt, but at the same time, I don't want to fein an emotional attachment that was not there before this accident. It is a tricky situation.
On that note, I shall retire for the day. In The Heat of the Night is on, and if there is one thing that can make me feel better, it's the Sparta Police Department and the racially charged dialogue they develop while wearing the tightest pants ever. God bless Mississippi!
Yesterday in the world of the Southern Belle, the day was spent moving things in my kitchen around as my apartment complex decided that the appliances they installed somewhere circa 1973 were no longer working well enough (brainiacs all) and that new ones had to be put in. A group of sweaty men reached my door at 8:30 in the morning, and did not leave until almost 3 in the afternoon. Although I am excited about the fact that I can now bake a pie without having to worry that the crust will combust after 15 minutes in the oven, I still have all of my kitchen supplies just kind of laying in the dining room where I put them after I was forced to find them an alternative home. This also sucks. To make matters worse, in the midst of it all, the apartment manager, a woman who wears too much hairspray and sells Mary Kay make-up out of the back of her car, comes to view my apartment, which is not at its tip top best at the moment. Especially since I had to clean off the top of my refrigerator and every bottle of liquor/ wine I own was sitting on my dining room table. So now she thinks that I am some crazy fiendish alcoholic who never pays her rent on time and drives too fast over the speed bumps in the parking lot. I mean, she knew the other stuff, but the alcoholic bit just sets everything off real nice, don't you think? She continues to give me this strange look, kind of like the one I used to get from my elementary music teacher when I demanded to sing Tina Turner in lieu of The Star Spangled Banner. I feel thoroughly chastised.
I am off today, and it is a good thing, as I am not feeling well enough to single handedly take on the incredible sugar craving that grips my sweltering, crowded city. I am planning on doing my best to fix my kitchen again and watching an insane amount of TV. Sounds fun. Sadly fun.
And before I go, a bit of emotional questioning. At my lovely place of employment, we had an associate who was recently injured in a car accident. Really injured, as in, she is still unconscious. I didn't know her that well, and what I did know of her, I did not like. In fact, I had taken to making rude comments about her and dreading those times when I had to work the same shift as her. Now, I have these strange mixed feelings about the whole thing. A friend has asked if I would like to go to the hospital with her to see the girl, and I really don't want to go, but at the same time, I feel like I owe the girl something. I mean, she is younger than me, and could possibly die from this. However, I feel like going would put me in that same category of people who visit the hospital because they gain some sort of enjoyment from being close to tragedy. You know who I mean. I was not close to this girl, and I certainly don't want to act like it now that she is in bad shape. I don't know. I am really unsure how to feel about this tragedy. I mean, I feel bad for her because I don't want anyone to be hurt, but at the same time, I don't want to fein an emotional attachment that was not there before this accident. It is a tricky situation.
On that note, I shall retire for the day. In The Heat of the Night is on, and if there is one thing that can make me feel better, it's the Sparta Police Department and the racially charged dialogue they develop while wearing the tightest pants ever. God bless Mississippi!
posted by Southern Belle at 11:04 AM
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