…that I am no longer delivering The Bag. (That’s another event that happened during the too-long hiatus I took from writing on here.) After about five weeks, I just reached my limit. One of my friends told me later he was taking bets on how long I’d last.
The labor and the walking was not the reason why. The last straw was when Steph and I sat down with a calculator and figured out that I was earning less than server’s minimum for the whole endeavor. This takes into account the time we spend collating The Bag, putting it in their plastic containers, and then going out and delivering it. I did it in the rain and in the heat, and I’m thankful I quit before the snow and ice came. I’m sure the deliveries would’ve gone faster if I drove, instead of having to deliver The Bag in relays with my two-wheel grocery cart. The wages were too low to miss, so I can’t say I feel the loss of the extra income.
Steph’s children’s music theory class performed in a recital in our living room this afternoon, and all the kids did quite well. Oddly enough, many of the selections were Christmas songs, both sacred and secular. (Carols refer to religious Christmas music: "O Come, All Ye Faithful" is a carol; "Frosty the Snowman" and "Silver Bells" are not.) Parents (and grandparents) came, and stayed for refreshments afterwards.
Steph had another voice student post-recital, so I stayed upstairs in my study for a little while. (Yet another change for the better–I moved my office out of the basement. Steph was gracious enough to forfeit the craft room to me, since I got tired of working while I was downwind from the litter box.) I was on Facebook for some of the time, then I drank some water and wrote in my diary. After I put down my pen, I ventured out into the dusk and the cold rain to Giant Eagle to buy milk. (I wanted to fill a prescription, too, but I forgot the pharmacy closes early on Sunday.)
Tomorrow is my last full week of work before the surgery. The surgery is in 10 days, and I very briefly considered going to work that morning, and then walking over to Grant Hospital and meeting Steph there at my 12:20 check-in time. I have an appointment with my general practitioner Thursday, a pre-operation examination.
Grant Hospital leaves nothing to chance. Between my 12:20 check-in time and the 2:30 time for my surgery, I’m sure I’ll be filling out reams of paperwork. A day or two before the CT scan where my gallstones were discovered, a woman from Grant Hospital called me to verify my living will and my do-not-resuscitate orders. How dangerous can a CT scan be? But, I’m sure they’ll ask me again about the living will–yes, it’s still in effect, and I’m still an organ donor.
They’ll have me thoroughly petrified by the time they’re ready to put me under!