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I'm at the Glen Burnie house. Right now, I think the very best summary of my mood would be 'despair'.
My prescriptions, filled yesterday, cost me $30 more than I'd expected. I'd neglected to adjust my numbers to fill all three prescriptions (amitriptyline, synthroid, duragesic) at once.
My feet are bloody stumps and I can barely walk.
The truck that was supposed to be here this evening isn't coming; the gentleman in question's been locked into mandatory overtime at his day job, which shanks us both.
My 'sleep' last night happened in the upstairs hallway of the house I'm watching... the last thing I remember was moving a load of laundry into the dryer, and turning to fetch the next load out of the monster tote.
The Explorer's on empty; I'm dreading filling the tank and expecting most of the cash I have left to vanish in a single burst at the Xtra Mart up the road.
Given the state of my feet, I know full well that I've got two trips up the stairs at the apartment at best. This will be a light load.
Megan's down with a genuine migraine, and barely able to crawl from her bedroom to the bathroom; my hollered 'Hello?' when I got here was greeted with a pained wail.
The lady that's been helping me pack and organize here had to cancel today because of a family matter.
The planned aid from Fuzzy slated for tomorrow afternoon looks like it's also going to fall through; his truck's acting up and he's trying not to do extra trips so it'll get him back and forth to work.
I'm failing, and failing badly. Offered a prime opportunity to use a larger vehicle to accelerate the move, I'm too laid up to properly utilize it. I'm watching that window of potential dwindle rapidly.
I... am out of ideas, out of resources, running out of time. I somehow managed to forget to eat yesterday, but for a string of Cokes, a few 'fun size' butterfingers, and a handful of ChexMix.
I don't know what to do.
My prescriptions, filled yesterday, cost me $30 more than I'd expected. I'd neglected to adjust my numbers to fill all three prescriptions (amitriptyline, synthroid, duragesic) at once.
My feet are bloody stumps and I can barely walk.
The truck that was supposed to be here this evening isn't coming; the gentleman in question's been locked into mandatory overtime at his day job, which shanks us both.
My 'sleep' last night happened in the upstairs hallway of the house I'm watching... the last thing I remember was moving a load of laundry into the dryer, and turning to fetch the next load out of the monster tote.
The Explorer's on empty; I'm dreading filling the tank and expecting most of the cash I have left to vanish in a single burst at the Xtra Mart up the road.
Given the state of my feet, I know full well that I've got two trips up the stairs at the apartment at best. This will be a light load.
Megan's down with a genuine migraine, and barely able to crawl from her bedroom to the bathroom; my hollered 'Hello?' when I got here was greeted with a pained wail.
The lady that's been helping me pack and organize here had to cancel today because of a family matter.
The planned aid from Fuzzy slated for tomorrow afternoon looks like it's also going to fall through; his truck's acting up and he's trying not to do extra trips so it'll get him back and forth to work.
I'm failing, and failing badly. Offered a prime opportunity to use a larger vehicle to accelerate the move, I'm too laid up to properly utilize it. I'm watching that window of potential dwindle rapidly.
I... am out of ideas, out of resources, running out of time. I somehow managed to forget to eat yesterday, but for a string of Cokes, a few 'fun size' butterfingers, and a handful of ChexMix.
I don't know what to do.
