The Days and Nights of Catherine Evermore

Ugh!

In the “Everything Is Getting On My Last Good Nerve” category, hurricane season begins in just a few days.

It’s hot. Some of us are still wearing masks. It’s about to get really rainy, and I’m ready to run away from home.

Seriously. Life is getting on my nerves.

I know, I know. That’s not a very nice thing to say, but I’m telling you my coping skills suck. I just want some peace and tranquility.

Is that asking for too much?

~CE

Have you ever known a moocher?

I’m not talking about the kind of moocher who borrows a few dollars or a smoke or a cup of sugar and never repays the favor. I’m talking about the kind of person whose friends, family, and sometimes co-workers pay the moocher’s way though a portion of their adult life.

I find it astounding how these moochers do it. They don’t work a steady job, they might do an odd job here or there, and they are oftentimes smart, fairly well-educated people who manage to live a good life off the backs of others. In fact, they might live a better life than those who enable the moocher.

I’ve known a few moochers along the way, and I’ve tried to avoid them like the plague.

Many years ago, I worked with a moocher. After helping out as much as was humanly possible, I had to put a stop to it. A new job helped me to ease out of the situation.  It wasn’t long before the moocher found someone else to pick up the slack.

Then there is the “poor me” kind of person. There is always enough money to support their favorite habit or addiction, but never enough money to meet their rent, pay their utility bills, put gas in their car, or buy groceries.

That’s when some unsuspecting soul comes along, befriends such a person, and the next thing you know they are financially supporting a total stranger. It happens all the time.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all about helping those who truly need it, but the habitual moocher or the constant “poor me” … not so much.

Anyway, I don’t know why this topic came up. Maybe the chatter about the moochers who live off the government had something to do with it.

Just saying …

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.

As thankful as I am to have long hair after losing it to chemo three years ago, it might be time to cut it short.

Why?

All this soap that gets in my eyes with each washing.

Maybe I should just wear goggles …

~CE

Dear Lord above!

All of my doctors (and there are far too many for my taste) have portals. Gone are the days of picking up the phone, calling the office, and actually speaking to a human being.

If I do call, I get to push a button for a laundry list of doctors, or push another button for another laundry list of doctors, or push yet another button for a nurse or medication renewal or blah blah blah.

So, I use a portal. I currently have five portals with five different passwords that take me around my elbow to get to my ass. Does that make sense?

I’m whipped!

It would be much easier to reduce the number of doctors in my life (pity I never married a doctor), thus reducing these insane portals which would make my life so much more enjoyable.

I wonder if they would miss me? With a couple of exceptions, most of these guys act as if they have never seen me before because we seem to have the same conversation each time I’m there at their request.

Maybe I will cancel a visit or two just to test them out. If they miss me, they can write via …

wait for it …

the freakin’ portal.

© Catherine Evermore. All rights reserved.