The Rush Towards Madness

The rush toward madness continues this week. The past few weeks have been a jumble of rushing here and there with appointments for doctors and meetings with friends and fellows writers. I did share a few events but didn’t include the luncheon with fellow retired Frick Hospital nurses or the myriad of tests, doctor visits, and return to pick up medications for the deficiencies that some of my tests revealed. If I get much busier, I will sell my home and spend the time on the road and living out of my car. Sometimes that almost seems like a better alternative than trying to sort through the accumulated things in my home, deciding what to throw out, and what to keep and clean around.

Almost a month ago, I ordered a new couch and chair. My old one was in fair shape, but it embarrassed me. The furniture store from which I purchased it promised me the material would wear like iron. That wasn’t true. I complained and they sent a repairman out to do repairs that didn’t last after first accusing me that a pet had done the damage. I didn’t have a pet at the time.

Saturday, I coaxed my son-in-law James to help me pick up and haul the new couch and chair to my house. The furniture was still in protective cardboard boxes and was even more bulky, but for the ride, we kept them on to be safe. At home, we opened and carried in the recliner chair. Now, comes the fun part. Opening one end of the couch’s container, we slid it out. I was too close to my porch steps and it overbalanced me, causing me to tip backwards, striking a butt cheek on the stair tread with the 300 pound couch sitting in my lap. I sat that way until the Charlie horse pain eased, then we wrestled it into the house. I guess I will have a permanent attachment to the couch, because the cat Willow has claimed the chair and branded it with a puked hairball.