Wednesday, Bloody Wednesday

Well, here I sit with a needle in my arm. No, I haven't finally succumbed to heroin to numb the pain of my daily life. I'm donating platelets. They have a new chair which has a computer attached to it and so I'm checking it out. Ought to be interesting -- I can only use one hand and it has a band aid on the end of the index finger; the keyboard is on an overhead springy thing and it's bouncing all over the place when I type; I'm lightheaded; and I'm supposed to be squeezing this thingy to help pump the blood, but the typing-squeezing is causing disorientation akin to rubbing your stomach and top of your head at the same time. But the new nurse is cute and one of the other donors is likewise easy on the eyes, so I'm getting by. The Dodgers are on the ropes, though, and it sucks not being able to pace the floor.

I've started mentally working on a new list. I say mentally because I can't think of anything to write down yet. This one seeks to come up with a theme song for every year of my life that I can remember. It's proving to be nearly impossible. To clarify, I'm trying to find songs for each year that best express my feelings for that year, not my favorite song from that year. I'm avoiding obvious or overt selections. For example 1981 was the best year on record for me, but I'm not selecting Sinatra's "It Was A Very Good Year". It's too literal. In fact I would like it best if it was a sort of emotional imprint, so that just hearing it one could feel how I felt then. I know that's not possible, though. If for no other reason, I might play 1981's song and because you hate that song you may react like it was 1994. I'm also thinking I might have to review the list every five years or so because I might change my feelings - not mention I'm still racking up the years. So far, I'm about to declare "Suburbiac" by Dolour as the theme song for 1996. And New Order's "Sunrise" for 1985. Try it - it ain't easy.

The front half of SGK's sweater is done. I was worried about getting it done before winter, but it doesn't seem like winter will be here any time soon.

I'm getting tired of this pecking.... ta ta from blood central!

A Bleedin' Tragedy

If you know me, you know I'm not a joiner. I don't go to church because I love Jesus, but not his fanclub. I knit, but not in circles. I mourn the decline of Oddfellows, Moose and Elks (even though they're supposed to be making a come back) but I wouldn't join them anyway. But today all that changed. I joined the gang at Guys Who Hate Guys Who Wear Garden Clogs. I was at the blood institute making my triweekly donation of platelets when this really annoying guy came in. He's toying with 60, tall, thin (very distrustful qualities) and he's one of those people who get really comfortable somewhere because they have nowhere else to be and acts like he owns the place or worse yet, like he works there. I see it all the time at the Last Public Place in America. They come behind the desk or they ask to use the stapler once and before you know it you're witnessing a progression from habit to constititutional right. Well anyway this guy, who obviously has no post-retirement life, plops down in the couchy thing and gets set to give. OK, one of the awesome things about donating - besides saving lives - is that you get a full array of free snacks and an overstocked fridge with every imaginable non-potent potable. Well this guy brought his own snacks - granola and grapes. That is just wrong on so many levels. And then he starts in on Chilean grapes. And then I see them. He stretches out and he has on beige plastic garden clogs. You know the ones. With the slingback. The ones like Genie and other middle-aged women wear. I don't care how comfortable they are. That is just so wrong on so many levels.

Meanwhile there's me and a really attractive fortyish businesswoman in there about to finsh. After she leaves he asks the nurse who's the woman, is she a regular, what does she do? She seems really familiar he says. "I do lots of volunteering, though, so I could've seen her anywhere," he says. Please. That is just stalker codetalk. And the nurses told him everything about her. As a nominal protector of three, I got really angry with all of them. I asked the nurse, isn't that a HIPAA violation or something and she says oh he's harmless. He comes in here all the time, he's one of our biggest donors. So now I'm a member of the GWHGWWGC.