Dotty Parker

cranky old drug store lady

Oh! Shocking! I'm in a grumpy mood.

I've got no list of reasons. I suppose I woke up on the wrong side of the bed; that'd be hard to do, actually. Nevertheless...

I went to the drug store to get two prescriptions. One was a refill. The prescription was brand new two months ago. I came in to get that refill. They said no. They said it was too late and that the prescription had expired. Oh.

I brought another prescription with me. I had the original piece of paper. It was from March. That they filled without a problem. That hadn't expired.

I asked what the deal was. The answer they gave was pretty much the same answer people give when what they're saying doesn't make sense. They said, "But you waited a month before you refilled." I said, "I waited a month before I refilled because I had samples." The said, "But you see that you could only refill until this day. Only one month from the prescription date." I said, "That's never been true before. Is this medication special?" They said, "Let me see." She came back with, "But you waited a month before you refilled." I started to ask why it was that I was able to fill a nine month old prescription, but then I thought they might take it away from me so I just left feeling the same way about that particular pharmacist as I always have. That she's a little slow.

Then I went to buy a newspaper from them and they didn't have any. Bastards.

I sound like my grandmother. Except she'd rant about the pharmacist to everybody who would listen. Not everyone who would read.

My grandmother, by the way, is really ill. She has cancer and had been in the hospital and they thought she was ready to be on her way to the next world so they passed her over to Hospice. It was the short-term Hospice. Two weeks, they thought.

Well, Gram got booted out of Hospice. She's staying with my aunt and my mom is staying there, too, to help. Gram got booted because she wasn't dying fast enough. Hooray! It's an odd thing to say, I suppose, that she wasn't dying fast enough. We're all dying, though. It's just that the distances between us and the out door are different for everybody.

BellyRub objected to the name of the Hospice they'd sent her to. The Inn at Saint Peter's. He thought it was stupid because it was in a hospital. I told him they had to call it that. There's no Out at Saint Peter's.

Except for Gram.

There are some times that we must all take pride in being kicked out.

And perhaps there are some times that we must all take pride in sounding like our grandmothers.

It's our heritage.

a life coach for you! a professional organizer for me! everyone's sorted!

I've been feeling overwhelmed by things I haven't done and things I should do and things I want to do.

I put post-it notes on the tv so I won't watch movies and will, instead, do something productive with my time. Right now I've given myself the "opportunity" to sew myself some new clothes, call people about sewing machines, do some copyediting, apply for school, reply to the people with my application for some schmancy volunteer work that would enhance my chances at being admitted for school, exercise, clean, and sell my car.

I see in my future, however, much shriveled skin and a whole lot of showering happening. I worry that I'll be taking away some of my enjoyment time, though. Maybe most of the enjoyment time I spend alone. If I can't watch movies over and over again, a hobby of sorts that I find soothing and fun, then I know I'll do something else. And I'm pretty sure that will be to take a shower. Mmmmm, being warm and smelling yummy, soapy smells is a good thing. (I can imagine that it's not really the molded plastic shower stall. It might be, in fact, a steamy, vacation spa. It could have magically transformed into one of those dream-bathrooms that have granite walls and they're big enough that you can spread your arms out like wings and not touch anything but the wall you're near, the kind you could lie on the floor and feel rain falling on you while luxurious smells reminded you of sandalwood or jasmine or some scent you've never smelled but makes you feel so good that it must mean beautiful things. Or if the lights are off, with the sound of water caressing my ears, keeping out other sounds, I can feel water pouring over me and pooling where my knees are pulled against my chest. I can dip my head and breathe in water and warmth and the kind of silence that I feel in my chest.)

I'd been thinking of needing help get all these things done, all these things posted onto the tv. I'd been thinking in exclamation points that are taller and louder than I am. It's been getting to me. In bad ways. The kind of ways that make my forehead wrinkle and make it hard to breathe deep enough to breathe out enough. The kind of ways that make it hard to get anything done, with help or without.

But then I wrote about taking my shower in the dark. That is something that I'd like to do. I can't read post-it notes in the dark. I can't notice all the things that need to get done when I smell cloves or mango or grapefruit or mint or pomegranate. Or cinnamon or rose or verbena. I don't care what things look like. And I feel warm. And quiet. And calm. And happy to be that way.