A note on the utility of pocket calendars

They only work if you read them as well as write in them.

You should preferably read them before you go to bed at night so you don't wake up at nine thirty (having driven to San Francisco and back the night before, again, this time to deposit son for his stint of grandma-spotting*, and then staying up later than that because the coffee you drank to be alert on the drive home worked way too well) and realize your annual mammorgram was supposed to have happened at nine o'clock. Even if the pocket calendar in question is this really nice, beautiful thing supposedly modelled on the one that Van Gogh and Hemmingway used ("moleskine," but it wasn't really expensive, and it was on sale)


*Moher is doing very well. She no longer needs someone inside the bathroom with her, but she needs to be spotted when she walks, and she needs help with her walking brace for daytime and her hand brace for nighttime. And she needs someone to do her physical therapy, language therapy, and occupational therapy with her. And someone needs to pay attention to my father, who is doing better but is still short of breath all the time.

Did I tell you that when I took my dad home from the hospital last week he had two goals he had to attend to immediately -- the last track for his latest compilation CD, and Moher's disability forms?

Meanwhile, Moher naturally wants to run before she can walk.

And just a note on something unfair

The nice fellow just went back to work after almost three weeks of quarter break. Dyring that time he went through two pounds of bacon, two and a half dozen eggs, and a gallon of ice cream, not counting what he ate at regular meals or the Christmas goodies and crap he's eaten. Fucking eclairs every time we pass abakery.

He says he's lost five pounds.

He hasn't had his lipids or blood sugar tested lately, but I bet they're just as normal as they were the last time he had them tested.