Another weekend lost. Not that I had an itinerary, necessarily, but whatever little I thought I might accomplish had been overrode by an unspoken mandate to remain indoors, just a-loadin' down this here sectional so as I can make myself available to Mrs Monohue, who, having torqued her ankle but good in our family tradition - said tradition being that of preemptively ruining the other's plans for any given weekend through some kind of injury, illness, or indeterminate malaise - has damn near invalidated herself.
So last night I took Junior out while she relaxed at home in our thousand-square-foot palace, confident in the knowledge that our working (if you feel like it) class (lower every year) neighborhood sees only a handful of trick-or-treaters. The kid gave up after all of six houses because his Big River ghost costume totally obscured his vision. How does a six year old kid give up on the entire concept of Halloween after half a dozen houses? Defective genes, that's how, and I'm the one to blame for that. Meanwhile, Mrs Monohue gets absolutely swamped, gives away pounds of candy, and swells her ankle up like the Goodyear blimp in the process, guaranteeing that tomorrow (today, Pacific standard time) is going to suck out loud.
And it does. I got up today and commenced to running dishes, trying to be useful, and instead got an earful for discovering things in the kitchen I wasn't supposed to know about. In sickness and in health, and all that, but I sure don't look forward to getting hollered at for discovering someone else's sins.
We were recently given ("gifted", for those born in this century, though I sure as E36 M3 wish you'd just say "given") a big, beautiful Samsung Frame TV. Naturally, it pooped its bed, which we've recently learned they are quite famous for, just a couple of days ago. Would have been nice if the Little Missus could have watched something bigger than her phone during her convalescence. But she can't. Oops, All Samsungs!
The bird poop icing on this cat crap cake: I got an email from our insurance broker on Friday confirming that the imaging center to which I was referred is not, despite their adamant insistence to the contrary, in network. So now I get to either dig up someone who is in network or just say "berk it all" and roll the dice that I'm okay. Which is what I'm going to do, because I have absolutely zero faith that either the medical or insurance industries have any intention of doing anything other than bankrupting me at the earliest opportunity. Why wouldn't they? They're counting on my will to live being strong enough to overcome my will to not be robbed. Boy, do they have another thing coming.
Sometimes it always feels like I've lived too long.