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-I got to go to Wal-Mart yesterday, after all, and snagged most of what I needed/wanted, including Supernatural S4. I can finally watch the handful of episodes I missed when I foolishly decided to watch CSI instead. I also stocked up on soup and canned chili. Mmmm.
-As of October, I will be the owner of my neighbor's minivan. Roomie took it for a test drive yesterday as a polite formality and discovered that he liked it. Apparently, it's got fewer blind spots than my mother's, and the gear shift is more intuitive and readily accessible. He's still exceedingly leery of the winding roads, so much so that he sometimes overcompensates and hugs the far shoulder, but I'm hopeful he'll relax with time and practice. It will be nice to go to Wal-Mart or the local 'cue joint whenever the mood takes us.
-My dentist appointment is on Tuesday. On the one hand, I'm thrilled because I've been in desperate, urgent need of dental care for years, but on the other, I'm terrified. I can handle the drill and the pick and the indignity of fellating a plastic water cock, but the needle reduces me to a gibbering, blubbering, snotty, armrest-clutching wreck, and the sensation of being unable to breathe or swallow while reclining for a drill-wielding oral gynecologist as he plies his unseemly trade inside my helpless mouth does little to lighten the mood. And of course the spasticity native to my CP only ratchets up the anxiety. It's hard to be come when you're afraid your jaws are going to involuntary snap shut on a syringe and send its piercing tip into your gullet, from whence it can plunge into your stomach and intestines and perforate your bowels.
Sometimes having a fecund imagination is A Very Bad Thing.
-On the up side, there's new Supernatural to look forward to next week, and Rammstein is releasing a new single on the 18th. I hope it'll be streamed on KNAC, because bluegrass and gospel reign here in endstage Mayberry, and the only record store is a barn-red, tin-roofed shack that sells vintage gospel and bluegrass on the original acetate and cassette. Looks like I'll finally be getting an account with Amazon, as letting go of my commercially Luddite tendencies has suddenly become a matter of socio-cultural survival.
-As of October, I will be the owner of my neighbor's minivan. Roomie took it for a test drive yesterday as a polite formality and discovered that he liked it. Apparently, it's got fewer blind spots than my mother's, and the gear shift is more intuitive and readily accessible. He's still exceedingly leery of the winding roads, so much so that he sometimes overcompensates and hugs the far shoulder, but I'm hopeful he'll relax with time and practice. It will be nice to go to Wal-Mart or the local 'cue joint whenever the mood takes us.
-My dentist appointment is on Tuesday. On the one hand, I'm thrilled because I've been in desperate, urgent need of dental care for years, but on the other, I'm terrified. I can handle the drill and the pick and the indignity of fellating a plastic water cock, but the needle reduces me to a gibbering, blubbering, snotty, armrest-clutching wreck, and the sensation of being unable to breathe or swallow while reclining for a drill-wielding oral gynecologist as he plies his unseemly trade inside my helpless mouth does little to lighten the mood. And of course the spasticity native to my CP only ratchets up the anxiety. It's hard to be come when you're afraid your jaws are going to involuntary snap shut on a syringe and send its piercing tip into your gullet, from whence it can plunge into your stomach and intestines and perforate your bowels.
Sometimes having a fecund imagination is A Very Bad Thing.
-On the up side, there's new Supernatural to look forward to next week, and Rammstein is releasing a new single on the 18th. I hope it'll be streamed on KNAC, because bluegrass and gospel reign here in endstage Mayberry, and the only record store is a barn-red, tin-roofed shack that sells vintage gospel and bluegrass on the original acetate and cassette. Looks like I'll finally be getting an account with Amazon, as letting go of my commercially Luddite tendencies has suddenly become a matter of socio-cultural survival.
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