A List of Grievances

So, no, I still haven't figured out how to post pictures on this blog. We'll just call that Grievance Numero Uno.

This morning started out like every other morning since we returned from our trip into the Real World - with a raging headache. The village people keep telling me that everyone gets them when they come back from "down South" because we're 3000 feet above sea level. That makes sense, because in our old house on the Sunshine Coast we were literally right at sea level. Ok, we were across the street from sea level, but you get the point. So I'm thinking the constant push on my sinuses that's causing my eyes to feel like I just got the smackdown from Evander Holyfield should start to subside, and soon I'll stop wandering around like the walking wounded. But since it's been about 10 days, and considering that my equilibrium is so off that I thought I was sitting up in bed this morning when I was still lying down, I decided to go to the doctor.

We have a lovely doctor here in town. His name is Phil, which would make him Dr. Phil, and he and his even lovelier (more lovely? lovelier? anyway) wife have a little boy who just turned one. I went and saw him and he agreed, yes, it's more than an adjustment to the barometric pressure that I'm having trouble with, so try this nasal spray and that should clear up the problem. So I walk to the pharmacy, but having not lived here very long I didn't realize that it was time for their coffee break and they were currently closed, at which point I decided to try again later. I then went home, had some lunch with David, made myself somewhat presentable, checked on the kids who were with my MIL, then thought I might try the pharmacy again, along with the other errands I had to run. Now, I had originally tried to do my running around earlier, but I had also forgotten that this town closes down from 12-1 every afternoon for lunch. It is during this sacred hour that I always feel as though I'm in some tiny town just south of the Mexican border, and everyone's leaning up against their casas with their sombreros over their faces, having a siesta, and only the cantina is open for business. Except in our town it's not the cantina, it's the gas bar.

Ok, I get to the clinic at 12:50 - not open. I go drop off my Arbonne deliveries, then head to the bank before I try the pharmacy again. The bank is not an actual bank, it is a single teller in her little wicket in the government building. When I arrived, there were two people ahead of me. 35 minutes later it was finally my turn. AND some little punk tried to cut in front of me, which made me want to kick in his kneecaps. There was also a massive line of drunk people - again, not making this up - who would not stop hollering "git 'er done!" as if it was the name of the beer they'd had for breakfast. By this time it was close to the kids' naptime, so I dropped off the last Arbonne order, picked up the kids, and headed home to put them down for their naps.

So here I am, whining to my computer, and subsequently all of you. My head is still raging, my equilibrium is still off - I might be typing with my head on the desk, I don't know - and still no nasal spray. However, tomorrow is another day...I'll keep you posted.