My Incredibly Unremarkable Life
A Journal (more or less)

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I think I mentioned that my primary care physician (to whom I've been going since 1976) moved his office.

Aside from the fact that he failed to notify at least one patient about this, the move theoretically put his office closer to where I live.

I learned this morning that very few of the buildings (mostly commercial on one side) had visible numbers. I finally found the building. About twenty minutes after the appointment time.

The parking lot had a couple of parking spots edged in faded blue (handicapped) but they were otherwise unmarked. And filled. I finally did find a spot about four or five rows away. (I was already late so I didn't check to see if the cars had handicapped plates or hang tags.)

When I got inside I apologized for being late, but with the lack of numbers, etc. etc. And I commented on the sorry parking lot. If you have never had mobility limitations, you really don't notice things like a lack of clearly marked close-up spots.

And the doc commented on the elevated BP. I'm surprised it was as low as it was. Five minutes later it was back within "acceptable" range.

And then there was the adventure of finding the lab. I knew where the building was, but it's a mixture of apartments and commercial. It took me three trips around the building before I spotted the little sign over the door of one of the units. The whole thing was exacerbated by a long moving van near the office which pretty much hid their little sign.

I allowed myself a short "sinking spell" before I headed to WalMart for some silly things like beast food. Needless to say, there were no motorized carts, but I didn't have that much to get.

On the way home I was behind a mototcycle, which I suspected belonged to a minion of the law. It didn't have real big markings on it, but as we neared a stop sign blue lights flicked on and the driver made a quick U-turn to chase down someone who had obviously done something stupid--or maybe head for a trouble spot. It was a state trooper. (And another clue to his officialdom was the little microphone coming out of his helmet.

I have no idea who he was after (or why) but as I turned the corner I could see him headed back the way I'd come. The official markings were very subtle--almost an unmarked motorcycle.

Yesterday's burn pile wasn't as successful as I had hoped. About half of it is still there. Tomorrow I'll rebuild it and try to get rid of the thing.

And maybe the day won't be as frustrating as today.

(I stilll haven't bought any Xmas gifts.)

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