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Monday, February 28, 2011

Why I Didn't Blog All Weekend

I’ve already broken my vow.  I have not blogged every day.  I did not blog on Saturday.  I did not blog on Sunday.  To put it more delicately than the more common phrase, life happens.  Last week I promised to pick up four dachshund mixes to take to the shelter.  These four young males had been seized from a hoarder in Mission, then wound up at the dog pound in Kerrville, where a dachshund rescue group found them.  The rescue group deals only with purebred “doxies,” and these were mixes.  The shelter/humane society I volunteer for agreed to take them.  On Saturday morning, I met with this kind lady who drove all the way from Kerrville with the four little dogs.  I loaded them up and headed back to the shelter.  It was 10:30 in the morning. 

At the shelter, there was another emergency.  A sick puppy needed to be taken to the vet right away.  I tucked her under my tee shirt to keep her warm and drove her there.  An hour later I was back at the shelter, with instructions to get her body temperature up, start her on antibiotics, and get her some nourishment with bottle feeding.  I covered a heating pad with a towel and wrapped the puppy in it.  Soon another volunteer arrived to take the puppy home and provide round-the-clock care.   

It was a typically busy Saturday, and not my usual day to volunteer.  I arrived home tired and hungry.  Instead of staying home and writing my blog, we went out to eat and to see a movie, The King's Speech.  (This was my second time to see it, and I enjoyed it even more.)  
On Sunday I worked on the spring edition of the humane society newsletter for a couple of hours.  Then I took a break for lunch.  In the freezer, a frozen blackberry cobbler caught my eye.  It had been languishing there since Thanksgiving.  I took it to the kitchen and announced to James, “We need to make this before it goes bad.”  I squinted at the expiration date.  “Yep, it expires in September 2012.  No time to waste.”  So I baked the blackberry cobbler, one of my favorite desserts.  After it cooled a bit, I cut a piece, added a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and was briefly transported to food heaven.  Then I had another piece.  I tried to go back to work on the newsletter, but my eyelids had become heavy.  I ended up in the hammock in a pastry-induced coma for the rest of the afternoon.  

So that is why I find myself here on this bright, sunny Monday morning, writing my blog after an unexcused absence of two days.  In those two days, I didn’t do any belly dance practice, either.  Nor did I go to the gym.  Plus my eating habits were atrocious.  I not only indulged in blackberry cobbler, but I finished off a box of vanilla wafers, ate a heavy meal at a restaurant on Saturday evening, ate pancakes on Saturday morning, and made French toast on Sunday morning. 

I started out this morning intending to make up for the weekend.  But my efforts keep getting derailed with interruptions.  When I turned my cell phone on, there were three voicemails from my daughter.  Her purse had gotten stolen (not for the first time) and she asked me to Fed Ex her extra set of car keys. 

Then I logged on to see where in the hell my mail-order meds are.  My health insurance company changed again--which is getting to be an annual event, heralding higher premiums and lower coverage--so now I have a different prescription-by-mail pharmacy.  The change in pharmacies came with the requisite delays and snafus.  (My doctor’s office insists they faxed the prescriptions; the mail order pharmacy claims they never got any fax).  So I got online to find that the status of my prescriptions is “in process.”  They have been “in process” since February 22.  How freakin’ long does it take, and what does “in process” mean?  And why is it that the choices on the automated phone system never include what you need?  If I could find it on your website, why would I be calling your sorry telephone center?  I decided to put off dealing with the pharmacy situation until this afternoon and started on the blog again.  Then my husband telephoned.  He had to leave his truck at an automotive shop up the road and needed a ride back to his office. 

Finally, I am back at my writing desk.  I don’t do well with interruptions.  When I’m concentrating, I shut out everything else, and it’s hard to get back on track.  Those questionnaires that are designed to determine whether you are an introvert or extrovert always include a question about interruptions.  The question goes something like, “Are you annoyed when you are interrupted in the middle of a task, or do you welcome the interruption?”  I am annoyed.  Very annoyed.

 


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