January stretches on. I can’t say I’m sad to see it end, even I have my limits of enduring cold mud. And of course the week of entrapment due to snow didn’t help paint these thirty one days in a favorable light.

I have been reading Sean Dietrich’s column for years. I was all about him for the longest. You know we even exchanged a few emails after I won a little contest he had….even though he accidentally announced in his podcast another person as the winner. It wasn’t the end of the world, and he went to the trouble of sending me a specially selected matchbox Chevy truck. After awhile, his columns started getting a bit repetitive, waxing nostalgic about his father who committed suicide. I tried to be sympathetic because we’re told to write what we know about. And writing is good therapy, too. So I got to skimming those. And the baseball ones. I don’t care for baseball, unless I’m watching it in person, in the shade, with a beer in one hand and Cracker Jacks in the other. But to give him credit, he did try to make them entertaining. Then Covid came along, and I was up to my eyeballs with every bit of that immediately. So I quit reading him altogether because of all the triggers.

Then he got this blind bloodhound and suckered me back in. But lately I’ve been on the outs again as he wrote about a little blind girl and a number of other children with debilitating ailments. I just can’t take it. I like the human interest stories about love at the Waffle House. And angels. I like reading about peoples’ encounters with angels. It’s generally an optimistic column, but sometimes I don’t want sunshine blown up my hindquarters. Sometimes I want to read about how he had a perfectly crappy day for no good reason at all. Because that’s normal.

All this to say I don’t want to become like Sean Dietrich to y’all. Even though today’s installment was pretty good. It wasn’t good enough to warrant a love button from me, but it was alright. I think I’m reserving my likes and loves for the bloodhound.

Which brings me to my own journaling for today.

I had to go in for bloodwork first thing. Amy on a Monday morning isn’t always sparkling, and Amy on a Monday morning before breakfast and coffee isn’t someone to cross, period. The nurse offers me a smile and asks which arm is preferable. I cut to the chase. “They both suck, everybody has trouble, my veins run sideways, and if you talk about it, I pass out. And yes, I’ve had three bottles of water already today. Sorry I’m what you get first thing.”

She looked a little taken aback, so I started bragging on all the Valentine’s decorations and her eagle tattoo to show her I wasn’t Satan’s bride. She puts the tourniquet on my left arm and pokes around. Breathes a little deep. “I’m just gonna check your hand….hmmm.” She takes it off that arm and switches it to the other. More deep breathing. She looks over my hand like a reverse palm reader. More sighing. “I’m not seeing anything I feel confident about…”

“Neither does anybody else. I tell you, Amber and that little bitty skinny girl can usually get it with a poke or two.”

Too bad they weren’t there.

“How do you feel about going over to the hospital where that’s all they do?”

“I had to do that once before and they still stuck me three times.” I didn’t bother telling her about the oncology people who were really at a loss that other time. When they started talking about between my toes I was like, “Peace out.”

“Hmmm. They’ve got a vein finder. It shouldn’t be too bad,” she wheedles. I shrug. “Lemme go talk to—“ whoever and she disappears through the door. Poor girl.

She returns, all smiles, pleased that she got the approval to pass me off. “So it’s up to you. You can come back in the morning and let Amber get it, or go to the hospital.”

Since Amber is the one who orders the bloodwork and knows that I’m a problem child, I’m always eager to let her do the honors. So I get to go back tomorrow. Yippee. Get me outta this place. Except I’m trapped. My armrest won’t move.

“You got me locked in with child safety doors?”

“Well, you said you pass out and I wasn’t taking any chances.”

“I like you better all the time.”

So that was that and I got to leave with no bloodletting.

The phone was ringing when I got to work. It was, of course, a new transplant who knows exactly what he wants and where he wants it, but doesn’t know his address. And was sure to tell me he “still works” so if he doesn’t answer, to leave a message. Sure thing, Einstein. Then I get another transplant, but at least this guy knew the basic pleasantries including please and thank you. Then I got a call from another secretary across the state whose attitude instantly ran all over me, so much so that I had to leave. I went to pick up my curbside order at Walgreens. And when I realized I wasn’t in a curbside spot, I tried to move to one, but this Dick in a Genesis almost ran me over because he was in a MUCH bigger hurry and on a MUCH more important mission. He parks at the front door, in Curbside #2 spot, as clearly indicated by a glaring sign directly in front of it. I decide it’s not worth it to move and enter my info on the link. As I’m going to the trouble of entering my type, make, model, color, plate number, how many children I have, etc, Dick jumps out and goes in. Seriously.

In just a moment, here comes a grandmotherly type lady with silver hair in a bun with a giant paper bag. She spares me a glance, but goes up to the driver’s side of the Genesis. The windows are tinted, so I couldn’t tell if there was anybody else in there. I can see her expression, though, and it’s confused. I roll down my window. I should add here, the only reason I chose curbside is because I was on the phone and it’s always a cluster with my Bluetooth to switch off if I leave my car running. Anyway, she smiles at me and says, “Miss Johnson!” A bit of relief in her voice. “I was trying to give your stuff away!” I nod and reach through to take my package. “I would have parked in curbside but that guy tried to run me over and I decided it wasn’t worth it. And then he went in, to beat all!” She blares her eyes at me and shakes her head. “She wouldn’t talk to me,” she whispers. I see then a woman on the passenger side. Me and the sweet Walgreens grandmother roll our eyes in mutual disgust, conspirators now, as the man comes back out to get in his car. I leave before I decide to shank him. And without dwelling on why I bothered to enter my vehicle’s information if they’re just gonna blindly deliver to the first car they come to. It ain’t worth the blood pressure, I’m telling you.

The final straw was a call from my Allstate agent, who is clearly an idiot. I had issues with him several years ago when I was canceling my car insurance and the moron canceled my homeowner’s policy, too 🤦🏼‍♀️. This morning I had scanned and emailed over the letter I had received from them, as well as my estimate and canceled checks for my roof and gutters, as requested in their letter if I wanted to continue with current coverage. So he calls this afternoon and is like, “Everything looks in order, is that the only changes you wanted to make? I was making sure that we covered everything, I figured you called and we missed it.”

I just froze, closed my eyes, and exhaled.

“I don’t want to make any changes. Your company sent me that letter—unprovoked by me—did you read the letter?? It said my roof is too old to be insured under the policy and if it had been replaced lately to provide proof. Those receipts are your proof. I did not call, I didn’t feel it was necessary, that you’d just tell me to send what I already have.”

I have flustered him. “Oh, yes, of course. I won’t keep you, then. The underwriter may request something else, but it looks good to me.”

I wonder what else the underwriter could possibly request when he says, “Like, they may have to call the roofer, think that would be okay?”

“I reckon. Not that he’ll remember me. You can see that was in 2020.” What the hell, man?

Oh, and my ex husband was still listed on the policy, even though I’ve told them at least twice to remove him. He’s supposedly sending me a document to e-sign. We’ll see. I feel certain I’ll be complaining about that again in another few years.

Anyway. That’s been my day. And that’s why I bought myself flowers and made garlic cheddar biscuits. That’s what self love looks like under a roof that was replaced in 2020.

So no, I’m not going to pee on your leg and tell you that it’s raining. I’m going to say I had frustrating phone calls today and aggravation in abundance. But I’m still blessed, I’m still happy, I’m warm and safe and dry. Thanks in part to my roof.

Ahhh, I slay myself.

Love from Appalachia,

~Amy