going postal

I've been getting back into writing letters lately, and I finally needed to buy more stamps.  I like to select fun ones because they last so long.  And I get irrationally angry that USPS charges shipping fees for buying online.  That's quite a racket since they're the ones shipping everything.  Anyway, I digress. 

I went to the post office where there were three employees and one customer.   I asked about stamps, and he brought out several varieties, none of which I loved.  So he brought out more.  And still more.  Finally he brought out George Bush stamps -- a sure sign of passive-aggression.   

That's when I realized I'd better hurry up and decide before he went postal.  I bought two packets to make him feel like he hadn't been wasting his time, even though he gets paid salary and not  commission.  Probably these will last me until I die.  Good thing they're forever stamps.  

is it worth it?

I guess we all have to decide what cost is worth what reward.  For me, my health and feeling good are worth almost any price.  Concentrating on that results in a mostly positive-attributed physical aspect.  AKA, I'm fit.  I have a friend who was asking me for food and health tips to change up her physicality.  I shared what worked for me, stating that everyone is different.  Her conclusion was that she'd rather be fat than have to eat how I eat.  Okay. 

In a similar conversation, she was telling me everything she does to look her best on the outside.  And I'm lazy as fuck with regards to that, perhaps because so much energy goes into making the inside function better.  Anyway, I've concluded that I'd rather have scars and wrinkles than go through her beauty routine.  Plus, I'm getting much better about accepting my scars and wrinkles.  I've earned every one of them.  They've made me the Wendy I am today.  And most people (myself usually included) appreciate that Wendy quite a bit.

traveling travails

After many, many times of opting out of full body scans at the TSA airport security, I was finally flagged as a troublemaker and received EXTRA private screening.  I was escorted into the back behind a curtain by two other women, which I'm sure was also on purpose, but whatever.  They can go fuck themselves.  Apparently, the difference between regular patdowns and EXTRA screening is she gets to use the fronts of her hands without any witnesses except her cohort.  I hope she enjoyed it.

Obviously, nothing on me or in my possession was illegal, and I didn't trigger any further alarms, but I can see how intimidating that process might be for someone without my intestinal fortitude, or my stubbornness -- call it what you like.

The cohort had the pleasure of rifling through my unmentionables, although she did this back in the public eye.  It was all security theater, and it constantly surprises me how (the) hoi polloi fall for this rigamarole.

Fooled them.  It was actually the distraction I needed not to completely lose my shit and start bawling in public.  I kept it together all the way until I got on the plane.  And then my eyes started leaking terribly.  Fortunately I had extra tissues in my purse that were only slightly manhandled by the TSA.

I thought I was doing a mediocre job of not making a scene.  Silent crying is one of my specialties.  However, the kind woman next to me noticed and asked if I was okay.  Of course that made me cry harder because awwwwwww.  I told her I was sad but would be okay.  She patted my knee and politely ignored my tears the rest of my flight.  When we deplaned, she wished me well and said she hoped my day got brighter.   Awwwww.  Just when I think humanity is lost, I see altruistic kindness.

I navigated a tight connection and caught my flight home without further incident.  Until I arrived at my car.  One of the tires was low.  I had a slight migraine building (perhaps because of the tears or the tears were because of the impending migraine, who can say), and I wasn't in the mood.  Logic prevailed though; five minutes putting air in my tire would be a lot quicker and easier than having a blowout on the highway.

I made it home safely and had an emotional reunion with Kitten.

I'm a fine feathered friend

I never knew that wearing a sparkly feather boa through multiple airports and cities was something I've always wanted to do.   

10/10 highly recommend

Not only was it fun every time it tickled me, but it made even the grumpiest people smile. 

I was able to merge into stopped highway traffic more easily after someone's car caught on fire and multiple first-responders showed up.  Cranky people at security were more pleasant, both employees and passengers.  Tired maintenance workers cracked big smiles seeing it. 

The only person who didn't change expression was one of my pilots.  Oh well, at least he got me there safely.  

And a side benefit is that it functioned as a scarf and kept me warm. 

sparkly feather boa

chillax brohim

Finally, I can chill the fuck out!

After 9 days, my house air conditioner is working again.  Maybe even permanently fixed.   Fingers crossed.  I've been so stressed and anxious.  And overheated and cranky.  It was particularly brutal with a migraine.  

The universe kept conspiring against me to get this unit fixed.  I guess I'm learning patience.  And resilience.  And how to be assertive. 

So many lessons still to learn.