Have I mentioned lately how bloody frustrating Texas weather is? No? It bloody well drives me nuts.
We get most of the work done, only to have it announced that there's a high possibility of it freezing tonight.
Grr.
So, the zucchini has been temporarily repotted and mulched, ditto for the strawberries. Berries have extra soil and mulch piled at the bases, ditto for the roses, azaleas, and wisteria.
I'm sure the zinnia seeds are just going to love it. Not.
Feel awful today. Worse than yesterday, if that's possible. Can't friggin breathe, I hurt, I'm wheezing and coughing and feverish. Yuck. Luckily the Things (knock on wood) seem to be fighting it off.
Pollen Count: 3285
Dear God.
Cigna has decided once again that my doctors know nothing. Instead of the diagnostics my neurologist ordered, they decide they'll only pay for one because obviously it's not worth working to find out what's wrong with me.
Insert neurologist's office into the equation. They aren't happy. They also have a solution. There's a diagnostic testing center that is currently Pissed Off at Cigna and several other HMOs. I'm going there now, even if it means having to do some driving to get to the place. Supposed to hear from them in the next 24 hours or so.
Instead of multiple appointments, all of my MRIs are going to be done in one single day. And cost me ..... NOTHING. Woo! No copay, no deductible. Nada.
Of course, it means that my appointment schedule is now tossed up in the air again.
It's kinda amusing. I get really quiet for a long time, and people wonder why. When I finally admit why, they get quiet. Works for me, man. It's a system, yunno, deliberately and carefully calculated.
Damnit. Something bit me when I was outside getting the plants ready. On my sunburned elbow, of course, and it itches like mad.
I must sneeze now.
Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.
Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.
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