The past several weeks have been hectic. Robert was supposed to come home on a day pass last weekend. But he had a minor setback with some pain and they’ve moved it to this weekend! I’m excited.

Also, I plan to be gone, gone, gone, out of town on Superbowl Sunday. Robert will be glued to the television; I might as well not even exist! So that’s a good time to blow town and head to Austin to catch up on some gossip with an old friend!

I’ve been busy putting everything in its proper place after the move. I’ve had to rethink placement of certain furniture items. We’ve got to accomodate a wheelchair now — at least for a little while. So there are some things that will have to be shoved around or put in storage.

It’s actually nice to have a clean, clear hallway….

It was just Friday last week, wasn’t it?
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It’s Friday Five time again….
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Next weekend, Robert is coming home on a Day Pass! We are very excited. Plus, it’s the best weekend for such a thing, since it will be a three-day weekend (Martin Luther King Day is Monday).

He’s asked me to fix one of his favorite dishes while he’s home. It’s something I sampled at The Salt Grass restaurant and have been pretty much able to recreate at home. Recipe below.
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I spent most of the day with Robert today. I arrived late last night and stayed over. We enjoy our mornings together and waking up and sharing thoughts over coffee always has been — and probably always will be — a great treat. No matter where we are.

TIRR (the rehab place he’s currently at) has a washer and dryer on each floor so I went ahead and did his week’s laundry. I’ve bought him some snazzy new threads, some shorts and sweat pants and knit shirts to wear to the gym. He’s roused by the nurses early each day, and after breakfast, he’s expected to get dressed, right down to his socks and sneakers. Then he’s ready for his classes, his occupational therapy, physical therapy and an hour each morning and each afternoon at the gym. They’ve got some great equipment in there. A couple of Bow-Flex machines, and lots of other stuff that looks like it belongs in a Medieval torture chamber, not a hospital. But he’s doing really great and the workout seems to give him a good sense of accomplishment. Especially since there are always a few there at any given time who are worse off than he is. Nothing like realizing, in the midst of a pity party, that no matter how bad you think you have it, there is ALWAYS someone who has it worse.

His mood seems to be upbeat and he gets more and more strength and movement in his legs every day. Hope floats!

Because we only had Thursday off this past week due to New Year’s Day, I’m completely thrown off. Thursday evening felt like Saturday evening and I was so afraid I’d think Friday (a work day, go figure) was really Sunday and I’d oversleep and be late for work that I asked a friend to give me a wake up call just to be on the safe side.

Then, for some odd reason, I thought today was Sunday. Which means tomorrow must be Monday, right? And I’ll be late for work. Except it’s Sunday. But wasn’t it just Sunday three days ago?

My head hurts. Someone give me a wake up call when it really, really, REALLY is Monday morning!

Well the “neighbors” are at it again. I came home to find not a scooter in “my” parking space but an entire car. I’m not worried about that. I just pulled in behind him/her/it. Put a nice (really!) note on his/her/its car to come knock on apartment #1 “when you need me to move my car” — like I’m the interloper.

But that wasn’t what annoyed me. What annoyed me was the garbage strewn all over the parking place, driveway and yard. Someone had apparently put two leaf and lawn bags out next to the heavy duty garbage can. And a dog (or dogs, in concert with one another, been reading too many detective novels lately!) came by and rummaged through the garbage and I imagine that’s how some of it came to be in my way. But it doesn’t take a brain cell to figure out that the garbage men (for lack of a more PC term) aren’t going to pick up those bags. The lazy shits will need to put it in the proper trash receptacle for that to happen.

I’m half tempted to take my Mavica out there and snap some photos of it so the landlady can see what they’re doing to her precious property. Sheesh.

Since I’m full of piss and vinegar this evening, let the bitching continue. Here’s my personal (and current for now; it is always subject to change) Top Ten list of loathesome, vile and evil things:
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I’ve kept my mouth shut up to now, but this is really, really, REALLY beginning to chap my donkey. I just moved into a ground floor fourplex. Of course, above me are three small children and their clueless parents. I’ve had to scream to them to keep quiet because all I hear, morning, noon and night are the children stomping around like elephants. These people don’t speak English too well, so my original rantings of “Shut the fxxx up!“, Shut the hell up!“, and “I can’t stand this fxxxing noise” went unheeded. Somewhat more effective have been (excuse the misspellings here) “Gallete lo sico!” (shut your mouth), “Silencio, por favor!” (silence, please) and “Vajate!” (behave). Still, the stomping continues, although to a somewhat lesser degree.

Today, however, upon arriving home, what was parked smack dab in the middle of MY parking space? A damn child’s scooter. This isn’t the first time. This happened last week, too. Only that time, there were THREE such scooters piled in my driveway. If I had a POS vehicle, I’d have run right over them then. But I love my car. I also love my driveway. The father came out the first time, sheepishly apologizing. Now, today, I honked my horn and he comes out onto the balcony and as I’m walking toward the scooter with the ultimate goal of flinging it, as far and as hard as I can, up to his balcony, he tells me in broken English that his little girl, who was playing on my front porch, would move it. I said, in perfect English, “Jesus fxxxing Christ, how many times do I have to go through this” to no one in particular. He then said, “I’m sorry, but my kids, you know, they run wild.” And this is OKAY? This is the best excuse for his brats’ behaviour that he can think of? Wait until the bitches are teenagers. They won’t be able to keep their legs together any better than their mother did.

I wish I could just come and go and exist in PEACE without these brats from hell living upstairs from me. I’m sick and tired of it. He better be damned glad I don’t drive a 4×4 pick up or a Hummer. Because I’d have flattened those scooters. Someone email me at zgal at prodigy dot net if you have any ideas how to handle this. I’m not sure the landlady cares. After all, she accepted them as tenants. I can only pray that they are as lax in paying their bills as they are in disciplining their unruly children. And these children are exactly the reason that web sites like this one exist. Because if kids behaved I wouldn’t have a problem in the world with them.

Thanks. I feel better now.
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