do the things I dread

once again going into the crawlspace under the house to check the sump pumps. I have not heard one of them operate for a while. I just happened to mention it to the lawn guy when we were discussing how everything needs maintenance and what a pain it is. He volunteered to go under and check them for me.

I, independent bonehead that I am, said, “No, you don’t want to do that,” and described how unpleasant it would be. But he persevered, so I graciously relented and let him do it. Thank goodness!

One of the pumps was not operating, so I bought one at Lowe’s, and now have to call a plumber to install it, since it is attached to a pipe that carries the water away.

He also told me about a timer I can get for my under-the-house fan, so I bought one of those, too. That will really help, since I forget to turn the fan on & off.

I have picked up my sword and my battered shield and gone to battle once again for a new Hoyer lift for Nick

Am I battling the insurance company? No. I am battling the idiot woman at the place that provides durable medical equipment.

The backstory is, we rented the lift, and old thing, until we had finally paid for it. Now, the wheels have totally shredded, the frame is rusted in places, and the hydraulic arm droops when it should not. So I get a doc’s prescription for a new one, give the info to the idiot lady. We go round and round about getting a new vs. repairing the old. I talk to Nick’s insurance case manager, and she says, “They should send someone out to look at it.” I call the lady back. She says the insurance company will not buy a new one for five years. I call the insurance company. No such rule. They say, “She should send someone out to look at it.” The idiot lady calls and says they will be out too repair it on a certain day. I say, “No, we need a new one. The insurance company says someone should look at it.”

I just give up for a month or so. I cannot deal with this person. The case manager calls me and says there are other durable medical equipment dealers within range, but really, I want it from this place, because they are pretty good about coming out fast for repairs.

Today, I call one more time. Same song and dance. I say, “Well, if y’all don’t want to sell me a new lift, fine.” Upshot, someone is coming out to look at it.

Should this be so hard? No. Golly day. They should be falling all over themselves to sell us a new lift.

I hate maing phone calls. Some are less pleasant than others.

that I have been dreading and putting off for six whole months.

It was not the form so much as the IRS form I had to look up and send with it, the taxes from 2 years ago that I had to dig out, the forms I had given to caregivers 2 years ago that I had to dig out. There was a discrepancy between what I sent to Social Security and what I sent to the IRS. It was a simple mistake on my 1040, and I overpaid by maybe $160. I overpaid, people!!! So quit with the forms already!!!!!!!!!

May I never, never hear from them again.

for Social Security, as if I don’t have enough frigging stuff to do.

Grrrr.

sewing buttons on.

My khaki pants (several pairs) have three buttons at the waist. I am down to one, two, or zero buttons on every pair. I think they were not sewn on that well in the first place. I have the buttons. I have a needle. Thread? Not sure I have any that is not ancient.

So, to do list:

Buy khaki thread
Sew on buttons, though I would rather disembowel myself and let the cats lap my entrails.

_{Maybe I can get Nick to sew them on . . . fine motor skills therapy, anyone?}

I have not heard the sump pumps operating under the house since the tornado.

So though I dread it, I must climb into the dank crawlspace under the house with the scorpions and the spiders and the snakes. I must go way, way, under, armed with flashlight and kneepads, and press the “test” and “reset” buttons on the sump pumps.

Not. Happy.