When there are presents being unwrapped and paper flying every which direction, this old dog wants nothing to do with any of it. I think he might be bitter because they don’t make Christmas sweaters in his size.
I’ve been known to have what I call “visions”. They usually occur when I’ve lost something and I’m digging all through the house trying to find a particular hat or something else that I need. I’ll all of a sudden see the exact location where it is – in the black box on the second shelf of the black shelving thingy in the living room. It’s exact, you know? And it’s not some – oh, it’s in the living room. We’re talking honest to goodness visions. A bit clairvoyant perhaps, so I always have to say “listen, don’t laugh, okay?” and then I explain my “vision”.
And so recently, for some reason I cannot actually explain (mainly because I don’t remember), I brought this up to my therapist. She says, “What do you mean, visions?” and I go through the process of how they come. I figure if I’m paying a co-pay to talk about myself for an hour, it doesn’t always have to be about important things. I should have some choice on this, too, which is why I like to say to bring up things like my “visions”.
Turns out, all you doubter and naysayers, IT’S PRETTY TYPICAL FOR PEOPLE WITH ADHD. I don’t know. Sometimes I just get the answer I want from her and stop asking. And that’s not entirely truth either, because she’s really f’ing good at her job and could probably have me talking about where all the bodies are buried within about 12 minutes if she really wanted me to.
Right now, I wish I had a sudden vision about a snowblower suddenly appearing in our garage, because the idea that my alarm is set for 5:30am tomorrow morning just to make sure I can get the car out of the driveway is not at all appealing.
I had to do this really not awesome thing today and give a deposition about a car accident I had. In 2006. I realized today that said accident was totally the reason I didn’t become the first woman to enter the WNBA without a college degree. Wish I would have brought that up in said deposition.
Anyway – lawyerguy was asking me all these questions about what hurt and what ind of medical treatment I received and what about this and what about that. And you know what? I didn’t remember nearly as much as I thought I did and it was driving me insane, because my memory is super solid… usually about things that don’t particularly matter, of course.
And then, lawyerguy is all – do you have any written documentation that you might have recounted to someone else? And I surmised that I was sure I’d written it down somewhere, either to tell my grandparents or something. And then he started saying things like: “journal, diary, blog, yadda, yadda, yadda”. And then I realized ol’ boy had TO”TALLY had some intern (who’s probably now very angry at me) read all of my blog archives from 2006 on. Sorry about THAT.
Now, unless he considers rambling on about nothing and obsessing over some really weird things, there was nothing that would throw up any red flags. It was the first my blog had been brought up in anything serious. And it reminded me of one major thing – I still hate the word blog.
There have been multiple occasions where I’ve required the assistance of a locksmith. It’s usually because I’m a moron and locked my keys inside the car. And sometimes, since locksmiths can be slow sometimes, I’ve also contemplated using a brick to smash out the window. After all, I should probably take advantage of that zero dollar insurance deductible, right? But even the times when I’ve left the thing running, I’ve held out for the professional lock breakers to get there. $40 isn’t all that bad, but it does make me think I could save some money by investing in my own little slimjim-type thing.
It’s a completely illogical fear of mine to be somewhere I’ve never been before and run into the same problem. Because, you know, looking something up in a phone book sounds real hard. I don’t even know where I’d find a phone book, even in my own house, much less out and about in some foreign land. You know, like Canada.
If I’m ever in the need of a locksmith calgary style, I know where to find one that’s open 24/7. And they’re apparently easy to find, too.
104-3223 83 St. NW
T3B 5N1, Canada
We don’t so much have plans written in stone to visit Canada anytime in the near future, but should that happen and I leave the Vibe running and accidentally leave the keys in the car (oh, yeah, this has happened), then at least I will consider myself as readily prepared as possible now that I know how to locate a locksmith in the greater Calgary area.
Our house has a finished basement and we’re so not taking advantage of it. The Kid’s bedroom is down there, which is nice. He likes his alone time sometimes and it gives him a chance to have a little more independence than having his bedroom right across the hall from ours. That’s important for a 15 year old.
The other part of the basement is this huge open space that we could definitely use as entertainment space. There’s a giant fireplace at one end and while we don’t use it, it looks awesome! We took Matt’s old couch and have a couple of chairs down there. Problem is, we’re using part of it as storage which makes it less than appealing. We also recently discovered we had a pipe backing up in the laundry room and what we thought was just condensation from the air conditioner turned out to be… yep! A backed up pipe. Ew.
We’ve plans to set up some carpet cleaning New York style. That’s going to have to involve moving all of the furniture out of the carpeted area, which is all of the basement except the area with the washer and dryer. So, it’ll take creative squeezing and stacking between all the furniture down there. I’m sure The Kid won’t mind when he comes back from his dad’s and his mattress is shoved on top of the fireplace. He’ll probably be okay with it, as long as he can find his phone and his iPod.
I’d still trade the hassle of cleaning the carpet at our new house, compared to the car-sized pile of dirt in our last basement. I’m not exaggerating at all about the size. It was weird and I hated going down there.
The first one was in Phoenix, AZ. I was there for a sales conference with my employer at the time and they’d provided us with a couple of psychics to visit after they’d also provided us with copious amounts of alcohol and hot air balloon rides. It was seriously fascinating. Things I learned? I was unhappy with my professional life and there was some internal drama with my personal love life. Wouldn’t have given it a second thought if 1) I didn’t completely hate my job and 2) was so totally in the closet at that damn job.
The second time I looked into this whole psychic readings business was at the Renaissance Festival. That’s not asking for trouble, am I right? This lovely psychic lady who I actually paid to read my palms or my cards or something else I can’t even remember was so sweet. The only reason I wanted to even talk to her was because I wanted to find out if I should really go through with getting Riley or not. (See, this was back in my days of way too large commission checks that I didn’t know what to do with.) She gave me some ambiguous answer, of course, which I took to mean HEY, ADOPT THAT DOG. And so I did and it all worked out, so clearly she was right.
I would absolutely not say no to seeing someone that claims to be able to read into my future and all that stuff. I’m completely fascinated by it and I have some major questions this time around. Anybody know any psychics?