Argh!

Okay, I want to know how they know that I'm cooking dinner and am not real close to a telephone?

It happens almost every night. No matter what time I fix dinner, whether it's between 5 and 6, or 6 and 7, or 7 and 8. It seems I no sooner get started on the cooking part, you know the part where you can't leave the stove because you have to turn the meat, or stir the rice, or lower the boiling potatoes, or something like that? And, ring, ring, ring, off goes the telephone with someone calling to tell me to vote for somebody, or would I please give to this charity or that. And, yes, we're on the list of "don't call me."

Well, tonight, was no exception and it went downhill from there. And because I was having a bad walking day, Alan bore the brunt of my angst. Poor thing. I feel so sorry for him. First, he has to eat whatever I prepare, which is almost always something I like, and rarely something he likes (like ham). Then he really has no input as to what sides he can order, he gets what he gets. And I rarely do dessert, which he loves.

Well, tonight it was the clicker thing again. I mean it's so annoying when he wants to see what's going to be "on tonight" during the last five minutes if NCIS, you know the part when they wrap up the show and let you know "who done it?" So that was irritant number three or four, I had lost count by then. And then when I got up to put the dishes into the kitchen, he wanted me to walk back and get him the clicker before I headed into the bedroom and back into bed. Well, I blew up. And he didn't understand why. And I couldn't explain it.

All I could say to him was I don't know why I blew up, it's just that I hurt really bad and you wanted me to walk those extra steps to get you the clicker. What I didn't say was, he could have gotten up and gotten the clicker just as well as asked me to get it.

Then, as I was turning my body and going out of sight (that's a play on Santa's actions in The Night before Christmas) I said to him that I needed to give him a shot and I would do that after CSI, at which point he told me I also HAD to put drops in his eyes and rub the rub on his chest. Whereupon I retored, I don't HAVE to do those things if I choose not to. You can do them yourself. And he could and has had to when I've been away. But he really couldn't give himself a shot.

So after the blow up, which I'm still fuming over -- and not because of Alan, but because of those stupid phone calls which started the whole thing -- I went into the bedroom and laid down to watch CSI (Because I thought it was the last one with Grissom) and low and behold I fell asleep before CSI started and woked up around 1/2 hour ago.

Will I sleep tonight? Probably not! But I didn't get up until 2 p.m. today, and after only five hours of being awake I was zonked out. It must be my hybernation season. I go through those seasons.

And, one more thing (to my dear diary), I am so very glad that it is almost December 21, because on December 22 that means that the days will be getting longer (daylight hours) and I will be a much nicer person. I know that because daylight makes me happy, and it seems these nonsensical political/seasonal give to me calls only happen after dark.

ttfn