Naps, Alternators, Thinking
Jim's still down and out with his virus or flu. No longer throwing up, but not right. Swilling Gatorade and napping a whole lot. He does manage to get up and do some taking care of business, like running to the bank with our pool guy to pay him, or get over to the mechanic.
Me? I'm making like I'm still some sort of fundy wife, buying Gatorade, making soup, changing bed linens and scrubbing toilets. Being a good little wife. Sickness tends to bring piles of laundry and other tasks. I'd rather do the cleaning, and I hate cleaning, than nurse anyone.
It's funny to admit but I am a terrible nurse, I'm just awful and awkward with sick folks. Could have never been a nurse, even if I did well when my youngest was so sick. Everyone else of older ages? Oh please, I know I gag, get faint at the sight of their blood, have no clue what to do beyond settle them in the bed and bring drinks. That's it. I'm too scatter brained to remember meds, not even my own sometimes.
Even funnier to contemplate my life against Lori Alexander's of The Transformed Wife on days like today. Lori and I are roughly the same age, within two years I think. We both live in big houses on the Pacific. We both cook from scratch, we both clean. Wait, I'm assuming she's cleaning and not ordering around a maid. We both go to church and are roughly in the same socioeconomic range. I have a tad more education than she. She has one more child than I. But that's about where it ends. Lori thinks telling others what to do is her mission from God. I know telling others what to do is really none of my business if they don't ask my opinion.
I'm starting to think that Lori suffers from some version of mental illness after nine years of observing the Quiverfull female enforcers I'm starting to believe all of them, including Lori, especially Lori, may have some form of narcissistic personality disorder. Many of them manifest the worst of the listed symptoms all the while yelling out that only they know the Godly way. Today Lori has been posting that God does not speak directly to people, except perhaps her. Bullshit. She's clearly lying, and she's not the only one.
Why is it that the three craziest women I know all have 'Lori' as their first name with that spelling?
Speaking of crazy, Jim is going to have to take our car back to the local con artist that told him the alternator was bad last month. Why? The battery keeps draining. The battery is new, the alternator is new, so now the mechanic claiming it's the starter. Starter my foot! I've had cars with bad starters before during my impoverished college years and our car has none of the usual noises that lead up to the starter dying. The starter sounds fine, we just go out there and the battery is completely dead. No starter engagement. I've been saying since the first moment we started having issues last month that it acted more like it was a short somewhere in the system, but the local mechanic does not listen to me, and Jim knows very little about cars.
This is the frustration of living in a Central American country with patriarchal views. Dealing with guys like the mechanic or the landscaper that want to pat me on my head and send me away for having a vagina. Which is silly.
I'm in standoff status with the gardener. The meeting the other day did not go well. He acted like I didn't know what I was talking about, right up until I threatened to fire him. We're going to talk more tomorrow. I'm still not happy with this sad line of birds of paradise planted around the pool, and he needs to stop trying to chop down my large ficus. The monkeys are always in it.
Making progress on the jacuzzi!
Me? I'm making like I'm still some sort of fundy wife, buying Gatorade, making soup, changing bed linens and scrubbing toilets. Being a good little wife. Sickness tends to bring piles of laundry and other tasks. I'd rather do the cleaning, and I hate cleaning, than nurse anyone.
It's funny to admit but I am a terrible nurse, I'm just awful and awkward with sick folks. Could have never been a nurse, even if I did well when my youngest was so sick. Everyone else of older ages? Oh please, I know I gag, get faint at the sight of their blood, have no clue what to do beyond settle them in the bed and bring drinks. That's it. I'm too scatter brained to remember meds, not even my own sometimes.
Even funnier to contemplate my life against Lori Alexander's of The Transformed Wife on days like today. Lori and I are roughly the same age, within two years I think. We both live in big houses on the Pacific. We both cook from scratch, we both clean. Wait, I'm assuming she's cleaning and not ordering around a maid. We both go to church and are roughly in the same socioeconomic range. I have a tad more education than she. She has one more child than I. But that's about where it ends. Lori thinks telling others what to do is her mission from God. I know telling others what to do is really none of my business if they don't ask my opinion.
I'm starting to think that Lori suffers from some version of mental illness after nine years of observing the Quiverfull female enforcers I'm starting to believe all of them, including Lori, especially Lori, may have some form of narcissistic personality disorder. Many of them manifest the worst of the listed symptoms all the while yelling out that only they know the Godly way. Today Lori has been posting that God does not speak directly to people, except perhaps her. Bullshit. She's clearly lying, and she's not the only one.
Why is it that the three craziest women I know all have 'Lori' as their first name with that spelling?
Speaking of crazy, Jim is going to have to take our car back to the local con artist that told him the alternator was bad last month. Why? The battery keeps draining. The battery is new, the alternator is new, so now the mechanic claiming it's the starter. Starter my foot! I've had cars with bad starters before during my impoverished college years and our car has none of the usual noises that lead up to the starter dying. The starter sounds fine, we just go out there and the battery is completely dead. No starter engagement. I've been saying since the first moment we started having issues last month that it acted more like it was a short somewhere in the system, but the local mechanic does not listen to me, and Jim knows very little about cars.
This is the frustration of living in a Central American country with patriarchal views. Dealing with guys like the mechanic or the landscaper that want to pat me on my head and send me away for having a vagina. Which is silly.
I'm in standoff status with the gardener. The meeting the other day did not go well. He acted like I didn't know what I was talking about, right up until I threatened to fire him. We're going to talk more tomorrow. I'm still not happy with this sad line of birds of paradise planted around the pool, and he needs to stop trying to chop down my large ficus. The monkeys are always in it.
Making progress on the jacuzzi!
Comments
hopefully you can tell your gardener: mi camino o el amigo de la carretera.
Feel better. I got the galloping crud on a trip to the midwest last week and had to go to urgent care in Wisconsin. Still coughing and taking meds -cough syrup with codeine and an inhaler. What fun.