For the past few nights, I have been wrangling with the dreaded CPAP machine...something that I know is simply a part of being a CPAP owner...much like picking up "gifts" from time to time is simply a part of owning a shih tzu. (I mean, seriously, say the words "shih tzu" and then think about it. It's not like it wasn't flashing a warning sign of this not-so-nice side of dog ownership. Exactly.)
What I mean by "wrangling" is blind acceptance of the fact that I require a machine that blows air through my head all night so that I can actually breathe and am able to awake somewhat refreshed at the end of it all, as fun as I'm sure that was to read. For someone who never had issues with claustrophobia other than the occasional elevator ride with too many people on it, being a CPAP owner and user has its own unique challenges. I mean...anyone can be a CPAP owner...to actually be an owner and user is something different entirely.
Think about it. You spend every night of your life with something over your face. Not only is it attractive (not), it makes you feel a little like Darth Vader (or the guy in the yoga class years ago who used to breathe so loudly that he harshed my mellow). You roll over in the night? You have to make room for the tubing and remember not to roll over so violently or haphazardly that you send the machine crashing to the floor. I've only done that once. It was enough.
Last summer, I spent the better part of June and July trying not to hurl the most offensive mask and machine across the room. I'd wake up with varying degrees of "freak out" or I'd have water issues. See, under ideal circumstances, you put distilled water into a little tank on the machine and it sprays an extraordinarily thin mist of water vapor into what you are breathing so that you won't wake up with your nasal passages feeling like someone walking in the Sahara begging for water. And most of the time, it does just that. But there are times when it feels like you are in the Amazon rain forest because the water trickles down to the mask...or worse...makes a gosh-awful noise that awakens you because it sounds like firecrackers at a Chinese New Year celebration because water has gotten into the tube and it has to go somewhere.
This has been my reality the two nights before last night. Firecrackers followed by wet mask. Awesome (not).
Last night, I went to bed at 9:00 and thought I'd be able to catch up on my sleep. Except at 4:25 a.m., I had a mini-panic attack wondering if this is my Sunday to bring refreshments to Sunday School.
Oh-to-the-my-gosh.
Now I don't know about your Sunday School class, but I can tell you about mine. It is loaded with women who can cook and who have no problem whatsoever bringing what can only be described as a "Southern Living Brunch" all up in that classroom every week complete with tablecloths. But when it is my week, I usually spend enough to feed the residents of a third-world country for a month...and it still looks tacky rather than classy. You know what I mean...the difference between a gel manicure and Lee Press-On nails.
I am still not sure if this is my day to bring refreshments or not. I shot off an e-mail to our refreshment guru and I'm assuming that she's still in bed like a normal person. But I can tell you this...if it IS my day...those folks are getting Krispy Kreme doughnuts and some biscuits from Hardees. I mean...I'm going to have to embrace my inner Tammy Faye on this one instead of Martha Stewart.
Bless my heart.
But now that I'm up...I've taken occasion to read the Drudge Report and a humorous text from my daughter. (Yes, honey, I'm sure that the subject of that e-mail will not enjoy the little fun that Karma had last night when she finds out about it), I've caught up on what happened in the world of Facebook last night, and I've had time to consider the fact that I'm going to have to learn how to make valances for Jill's kitchen bay window because those people at Etsy who are selling them are cray-cray for asking what they are. I mean, I fully support capitalism, but dang, folks. It's two seams.
Yes, someone wants $30.99 for a valance. She needs three. I'm thinking a yard of burlap and some stitch witchery and we're in business. At least until the stitch witchery fails because the sun is beating down on it all day. Which, by my calculations, will occur on the exact date and time of her Housewarming Party in July...so...no. Just no.
I could call in some favors...but since I've recently had surgery and a 50th birthday party...I'm thinking that I'm running a little low on chips right now. I know that my friend, Bonnie, who cleaned the carpet in two bedrooms and a closet yesterday in Jill's house for the price of one Country's BBQ sandwich and an extra bottle of carpet cleaner for her future projects is out.
Okay, that $30.99 isn't sounding so bad right now. Except that I'm not sure that the fabric would match her walls and that totally would not rock. Trust me...it is going to match or it isn't entering Jill's house. She's pretty adamant about that.
Except, of course, for the oversized tan corduroy chair that I purchased at a yard sale yesterday for $10. For some reason, she loves it. I'm thinking it is because it was only $10 and it's comfortable. Now all we have to do is clean it and possibly find a slipcover for it and we're golden. Big Dave left it on the back patio last night because he couldn't manage to get it in the back door. He declared that it might not fit in the house, and suggested that Brian might take it to Huntsville this Fall when he leaves. Jill was having none of that. So, she and Bonnie got it into the living room last night and there it sits in all of its corduroy glory in the midst of the ballpark chairs and the $5 table of Brian's that we bought at a yard sale last weekend. Fortunately, I didn't have to negotiate these prices because, seriously? Who is going to NOT pay $10 for an oversized chair that is clearly in good shape other than being a little worn out and dirty or $5 for a table that is so sturdy that the only way it will ever be disposed of is by selling it to someone else or setting it on fire. I'll sell it to someone else in a few years for $5.
Awesome.
I have never been one to go to yard sales. I always thought I had to buy something if I stopped...much like I feel that I must purchase something at McDonald's when I stop there to use the restroom while traveling. But since I've gone to a lot of them lately with Jill...I've realized that I don't have to. I can just take the color boards from her house with me and if all they have left is a collection of children's games and clothes in size 10, I can just walk away with a "thanks!" and be on my way.
It was quite liberating.
I don't do terribly well in negotiating because I assume that if someone is asking a certain price...that it is because that's what they need to sell it for or they'd ask less. So, sometimes I'll just decide yay or nay based on whether I can pay what they ask rather than asking for a concession. Although I do love me a concession.
(Actually, I love all concessions...but let's not go there. I've been craving a hot dog for the past week...which offends me on many levels since I am not at a ball park and I have some fresh tuna in my refrigerator which is a much better choice. Allegedly.)
In my family, getting something on sale is the only way to go. We don't pay full price for anything unless it is absolutely necessary. Big Dave insists on the dollar menu when we purchase fast food. I have a stash of coupons at any given point in time, and I will wait until something is marked down before I will buy it. This is actually a generational thing. I learned from my mother who learned from her mother, and my daughter has learned from me.
Which is why she's all about that $10 chair. I knew when she rescued it off of the back porch last night that she intends to keep it. Won't Big Dave be surprised today when he shows up to paint trim and finds it in the living room? Yes. Yes he will.
Of course, he'll exhaust himself again painting and puttering around her house...trying to get it all done since her roommate is moving in next weekend and Jill is moving in the Monday and Tuesday afterward.
Not that they'll have a functional kitchen. That's going to be another week or so down the line.
And I'm sure that there will be a story in there somewhere. Possibly two.
But back to my original issue...which I'm sure is more than a little difficult to follow because I'm all stream of consciousness this morning...but I just received a phone call that I do not have to take refreshments today...so all of that angst was for naught.
Rock. On.
On the other hand, I'm up and ready to face the day...or the dirty blinds in Jill's house. Whatever. Sadly, I'm just not up to facing my own blinds...which is pretty standard for me, by the way. I'll be happy to help you...but help myself? Not so much. But it is getting to be that time where I have no choice but to do something in the housekeeping arena for myself. Because it is abundantly clear to me that Merry Maids is not going to materialize out of thin air. And if I called them...I'd only clean up first and then berate myself for wasting my money.
Wait.
So, maybe I need to call Merry Maids, panic, clean, and cancel. Nah, that's lame. Might work...but I'd probably forget and then I'd be mortified and out a whole lot of money. Something I don't have any of right now between Jill's new house and Brian moving to Huntsville in August.
Oy.
I am finishing this post this afternoon...after spending most of the day cleaning up, shopping for a list of random stuff, and buying coffee so everyone in this household will remain civil tomorrow morning. I'm about to go do a few things that need doing as I listen to the hum of Big Dave on the lawnmower after a full day of working at the houses of two clients and his baby girl. Riley, the exuberant shih tzu is licking the bowl in the vain hope that from this action additional kibble will spring out of it like manna from heaven. Brian just asked me what I was cooking for dinner, and I directed him to the leftover pizza that is in the refrigerator that is going to get eaten before I cook again.
Bless his heart.
In a few hours, I'll be back to CPAP wrangling and Monday again. I don't know which is worse. But both are a part of my life...so I may as well embrace them. After all...when they go right...all is well. And when they go wrong...I'll have something to blog about. So there's that.
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