The Handicapped Ramp Down

It’s the beginning of that slow walk down the handicapped ramp into the dark. Yes, each year about this time I begin taking a slow moving escalator to – not hell – but some place similar. I begin to feel pressed for time even when I’m not. Everything turns into a chore, even when I expect to enjoy it, and every word I have to utter seems like moving a mountain. Aggravation and irritation hang around just over my shoulder, but still in my peripheral vision.

This morning’s temperature stood at about freezing, so I thought I might wear a jacket. A sports coat as we call them. I headed to the spare room closet where I keep the coat I had in mind. Right in front of the closet door proudly stands a pile of dog shit. I felt disappointed as I walked to the bathroom to retrieve a long piece of toilet paper to pick the shit up with. Back to the dog shit, I bend over to pick it up, when I realize that an uncovered part of my hand has made contact with one of the turds in question. I take it to the toilet and flush it away, then turn to the sink to wash my hands when I notice a three-quarters empty jug of Drano sitting in the sink to remind us not to use the sink while Drano does its work.

I go to the other bathroom and wash my hands. When I finish I can’t remember why I went into the spare room in the first place. Oh yeah, it’s cold out. Back to the spare room and the closet – hmm, the coat I have in mind isn’t in there. Must be in the other closet, so into another room I go and find the closet. Now, if I had remembered that the coat I wanted hung waiting for me in this closet, I’d never have to had dealt with the dog shit. Too late for that now though.

I picked up a bag of trash from upstairs to take out to the curb, because today is trash pick up day. Downstairs I set it on the table and begin the routine of taking my meds (oh yeah) with some orange juice and banana-strawberry flavored protein powder which I can’t taste. The OJ’s kinda low so I check the freezer to take a new can of OJ concentrate out, but no OJ to be found. While checking for it, I notice that the ice maker is jammed up again and not producing ice. I start to get a knife to break up the ice jam, but forget about it when I see the dog treats. Of course, the two dogs (one of who shit upstairs) eagerly await their morning Snausages. I give them their treats, and proceed to mix up my protein powder. I take my meds along with a nasal-spray steroid to “help” my sinuses (not that they could be helped).

I remembered that I have three letters to mail, but I only have $0.37 stamps. Postal rates went up a few months ago to $0.39, but it has been so long now that the machines in the Post Office aren’t selling the $0.02 make up stamps anymore. I know, because I tried to buy some last night. The letters are so late now that I don’t have time to fuck around with finding some $0.02 stamps, so I decided to just put two $0.37 stamps on each one. Only, I don’t remember where I put the stamps. I start looking around for them, and notice that the other dog has pissed on the hardwood floor that I just refinished on Sunday. I mention that to Nana who says that she’ll get it up, but she doesn’t budge from her chair. I find the stamps and put them on the letters. Nana begins telling me about what’s in the paper, I grab the bag of trash and my bag (oh yeah, it takes a lot for me), I tell Nana that the dog piss needs to be wiped up now, and I head for the door. Nana asks me where the dog piss is, and I have to comer over and turn on the light to point it out. I head for the door again, and get in the truck. I back out and head to HEB to pick up some deli meat for a retirement party today. I’m halfway to HEB when I realize that I have a bag of trash in the seat with me. Fuck! I decide to just take the trash on to work, what the hell? As I write this a bag of trash sits in my truck’s floorboard.

I get to HEB and pick up some kind of deli meat. I don’t remember now if it’s ham or turkey. I head for the check-out stand where there is only one person in front of me. I put my meat on the conveyor belt. The lady in front of me tries to pay with a debit card. The cashier tells her that the machine didn’t read the card. She swipes it again and enters her PIN again. No good. The cashier says that the lady can make it credit instead of debit, but the woman wants cash back, and I suppose you can’t do that with credit. Hell, I don’t know. The woman says she’ll write a check and starts to fish around in her purse. She then begins to tell the cashier about how she knows there’s money in her account and they have to discuss the system while I wait. Finally, the woman finishes her check. I’m paying with cash (what me with cash?) so my transaction is really quick.

I take my meat to the truck and head for work. About 10 minutes into the drive the Goddess calls me to ask if I have called the hospital about one of the many bills there. No I haven’t called them, and I don’t have their phone number with me. Neither does the Goddess. I reckon I’ll try calling Nana and have her read it to me which is pretty dicey.

I arrive at the office and head up to my desk. I check my bag for the letters, and they’re not there. I retrace my steps and I know that I didn’t mail them. I reckon that I’ll ask Nana to mail them when I call her to the the phone number of the hospital. Then, suddenly it dawns on me – the letters are in my coat pocket! Duh!

All this and it’s not even 8:30 yet. Oy vey.