Hemlock B Bootsalotta

Back in the days of the dinosaurs before computers made everything fast and efficient, I used to go directly to the post-office to fill out a big sturdy postcard-sized form that let them know that all mail to my old address was to be temporarily delivered to my shiny new address instead. This form was then shuffled off to a back office where it was ignored about 50% of the time. Occasionally, I can only assume through some form of user error, some of my mail would actually arrive at my new apartment.

In the modern world, I fill out out my request on an web page, which insists that the old address cannot be changed because it does not exist. I go to the post-office which no longer wastes time with the old forms and instead requires a staff member to fill in the information on the exact same website, which also tells her the address does not exist. Then I spend two days trying to get past the AI that provides customer support, most of that time listening to a recorded message telling me that service would be faster and easier if I used the website.

This is what is known as progress.

***

Banks and lawyers are also being a pain. Took a week of nagging to get the lawyer to sort out the last of the mortgage funds. And then the bank put a hold on a certified cheque. Whatever. It's sorted now, and my contractor has the cheque to get started on fixing the brickwork on the back of the house.

***

Ex-housemate sent a message that they would be coming to town to pack up their stuff on Tuesday. The plan was to spend the day packing and fitting whatever they could into their storage unit, spend the night in an AirBnB, and then leave Wednesday with the first carload. Or so they said.

So when housemate hadn't shown up by late Tuesday afternoon, I figured they had decided to punt it to another day. I was just finishing up my dinner when the doorbell rang. "I'm just picking up a couple of things now, I'll be back when [partner] goes to bed, she goes to bed early and then I'll start running things up to the storage locker." Yeah OK, not how I would have done it but whatever. Not my circus.

Sirs Madams and Gentlethems, when they said, "She goes to bed early," I figured maybe 8? 9? I did not expect them to show up at my house close to midnight.

Whatever fuck you I'm going to bed I have to work in the morning. They then spent the next three hours dragging things around the house with accompanying door slamming and crashing. At one point around 2 AM they dropped something so loudly I heard the neighbours get up to find out what the hell was going on. I went down stairs long enough suggest that I might help them if they wanted to do it during the day time but they just growled at me so I said fine, fuck it, went back to bed.

The next day they came back to the house, ate the last of their food that had been left in the fridge, packed up poopy cat and left.

So far I have discovered they have buggered off with at least four of my computer cables and they locked the under-the-desk drawers that I don't have the combination for. I also have thrown away almost a full bag of expired food that was stuffed under various pieces of furniture.

They haven't taken everything so at some point I'll get my computer cables back. I've already told them they aren't allowed to do any more packing unsupervised and that does not mean I'll be staying up until 2AM on a worknight, so sort your shit out. Shitting hell.

Elderly Gentleman cat is quite perturbed by the entire thing and has been glued to my side. But he got to sleep upstairs with me for the first time in years, so I think he'll settle in OK.

... AAAAND it's covid.

( questions of days )

***

Monday night's usual plans were postponed so I made good on that promise to myself take a walk down to the lake after dinner. I had the vague idea there was a pedestrian bridge that crosses Lakeshore Boulevard, and it took a few false starts but I managed to find it. It's not signed anywhere, and the sidewalks just... stop... at what is essentially the side of a highway.

I thought it would be cold and windy but it was actually surprisingly calm and warm. It was pitch black of course. I spent a couple of hours just trekking along the boardwalk and listening to the Canada geese. It ended up being very soothing, and I am really glad I did, because... *drumroll*

***

Tuesday hit like a fucking shit avalanche. First my sister starts texting me that she's getting messages from our dad's wife - he has a worrying health situation that went shit sideways very dramatically and very suddenly. A ton of back and forth went on pretty much for the entire day and he's apparently somewhat better today, but we're both more than a little freaked out. Part of our concern is that his wife is a big proponent of alternative medicine and he's super avoidant and he already neglects really important health shit because he just can't be arsed.

And to top that off, the housemate takes my elderly gentleman cat to the groomer - because he will not let us brush him and his knots are right up against his skin where I can't get at them - AND SHE CUTS MY FUCKING CAT. To the tune of an emergency vet trip and $450 worth of staples and antibiotics.

I have no fucking words.

***

So today:
My sister texts me to say she is moving back to Canada, both so that she can assist in getting dad some supports and so that she can spend some time with him. She'll need to sort out a job and a place to live, but those are solvable problems.

The knowledge that I do not have to juggle assistance for another elder is... a relief, I'm not going to lie. His wife is, I think, starting to realize how exhausting this is going to be on just her shoulders so she seems willing to let us get her some help. And there's also the not-minor concern she's not vaccinated and doesn't mask, so there's a good chance she'll end up sick at some point and possibly need help herself.

The builder also showed up with a plan in writing for how he's going to get the work on our house finished before he goes in for surgery. Then he proceeded to build an entire deck right outside my window while I watched him from my office chair.

And elderly cat seems to have forgiven us for what happened and is being his usual affectionate self. (Although I'm certainly not over being fucking pissed off.) I might just ask the vet to shave the knots off when he goes back to get the staples out.

It has been A Week and it's not even Thursday yet.

Conference call happened today. All the material concerns were dealt with to everybody's satisfaction except the actual residence rep who kept raising objections based on the fact that residents are expected to socialize and take part in activities. Which, as my sister pointed out, were suspended for the entire time he has lived there anyway, so what exactly has changed?

Finally I got tired of the stonewalling and said, "Look, I feel like we've been going around in circles for a while now. The hospital needs to discharge him and this is where he's going to go."

Apparently this won me some fans in the social worker set. Honestly I don't know how people manage if they don't have family advocates.

So he goes home tomorrow and I plan to be there in the afternoon to see if there is anything he needs. They are replacing his bed with an actual hospital bed - I'll put the old one in storage for now just so I don't have to deal with it right away. On Thursday the Occupational Therapist will be there and we will talk about physio. The social worker gave me a list of places that are more geared towards his level of care, so I'll start calling around Wednesday. I hate to move him, but I honestly think he'd be better off in a place that isn't shitty to him.

As per the Law of Unintended Consequences, when the kitchen got gutted the little black ants that nested in the rotten wood got pushed upstairs. Those little fuckers bite. I lay out ant traps and that has mostly been keeping them under control. I'm sure the fact that I'm doing dishes in the shower isn't helping, since the occasional scrap of food gets missed when I'm cleaning up.

(Not the carpenter ants. They are quite happy to continue living in the remaining walls.)

Anyway I've been getting the odd bite on my leg, and just assuming it's an ant bite. Only on Thursday Dr River Song tried to climb up on my shoulder while I was working and an hour later I discovered an insect bite on the front of my neck.

So I can only conclude that the cats have fleas.

You can imagine my delight.

So over the weekend I did all the laundry, washing all the pillows and duvets in the house in hot water. I could have sworn we have some flea treatment in the house but I can't find it and the vet requires an appointment before selling me more so we'll have to sort that once Axe gets home and we can figure out a time one of us can do it. I'll rope them into helping me vacuum all the mattresses and couches and their bed really should go into storage soon, since I'm expecting the city permit to be submitted this week.

Oh and the icing on the cake? One of the cats decided to register their objection to Axe being away all weekend by pissing all over the basement floor.

I am this far away from setting the house on fire, changing my name, and moving to Mongolia.

Shit y'all, I should have gone to law school.

Whatever you are doing, stop and look at this house.

It's so hard to choose, but I think picture #33 might be my favourite.

OH. MY. GOD!



Serving the Prime Minister

Canada's sexy new Prime Minister Dustin Waterhole has swept to power - but what's going on in the back offices?

I thought I had a pretty good deal going. I was a young guy fresh out of school, and I had landed a job at the headquarters of the Leaf Party. But as we suddenly took power in an election, I was suddenly running the back offices and assisting the new Prime Minister, the young and handsome Dustin Waterhole. It turns out that serving the Prime Minister means more than just pushing paper...but, I mean, he does have nice hair.

DUSTIN. WATERHOLE.

Spotted on my way to work yesterday.

You can't make this shit up.

Gah. Can't comment on half of the LJ posts today, because I get some of them give me a pop-up saying my workplace is "considering" a block because the URL has been identified as web blogging site.

That's banks for you. Finger on the pulse, etc.

Anyway.

There was a discussion on a friend's FB recently about her upcoming marriage, and how while she is looking forward to the wedding and to being married to her partner, the prospect of being called "husband and wife" really skeeves her out.

I get that. Hoo boy, do I get that.

There have been a couple of times that I have talked to Axel about how I occasionally wished that we hadn't gotten married. Not because I regret marrying him (I don't), or because it wasn't fun (it was), but because of all the assumptions that other people put on our relationship because of it. Those grate on my nerves big time.

But you want to know what really drives me spare? It's when people change my name.

The absolute worst people for doing that seem to be contractors. I can't tell you how many times I have had to tell workmen, "That is not my name." We hire all our contractors through a central agency, and even though I set up the account and both our names are on it, they insist on calling me up and asking for "Mrs Johnston".

The last fucking straw was when I hired some guys to redo the floor in my sister's condo. They never spoke to Axel. They never met Axel. All arrangements were made by me. They had my contact info. My name was on the cheque I gave them. And when they finished the job they dropped the key off in the condo office in an envelope - labelled with Axel's last name. The office freaked out and wouldn't give back the fucking key without a copy of the ownership.

That was over a week ago and I am still ready to just about fucking skin somebody every time I think about it. It just might end up being the next person who calls me "Mrs Johnston".