Yet another rant, a vent of frustration to try to reconcile an experience. One side of me — the spoiled, arrogant, take-everything-for-granted white male, first world side of me – continues responding to the coronavirus actions as though everything is alright with the world and is thus annoyed, I tell you, peeved, even, about things like one day delivery requiring six days. “What in the world is with that?” that side cries in anger and despair.
The other side of me replies, “Dude, you are a jackass.”
The event in focus is my pecker meds (Tamsulosin). I always get it locally, thirty day supply. But with shit going down, I thought it prudent to get a larger supply.
First, I tried ordering it ahead of time at my regular place, Ashland Drugs. Nope, it was too soon, the system said. By then, shutdowns were announced, so I shifted to Express Scripts.
Well, there were delays. My prescription was for thirty days and I was asking for a supply of ninety days. ES contacted my prescribing urologist for approval. He, they said, in updates on their website, didn’t respond. A day passed. Two. I shifted the order to one day shipping, because I could see that this was gonna take more time than planned. Then I called the urologist’s office and explained what was going on and what needed to be done.
That worked. Presto, order was being processed.
The next day, the order continued being processed.
Ship, damn it, ship, I urged.
Yes, it shipped, on 3/31. Hoorah! Here was the tracking number. They didn’t know when it would be delivered.
Have I mentioned that the requested one day shipping cost twice as much as the prescription?
For some reason, “The Wells Fargo Wagon” song from from The Music Man began providing me background music.
I faithfully tracked the shipment from Arizona to California, and then, by truck, from California up to Washington via DHL. The road from California to Washington is a little trail that we locals call I-5. It goes past my house by a few miles.
That irrational, crazy part of me screamed, “Why can’t they just pull over and toss it to me as they’re passing Ashland?” Yes, even the irrational part of me knows how dumb that suggestion is.
By April 2 I learned that my Tamsulosin would arrive on April 6. The plan was for DHL to truck it to Washington. DHL would hand it over to the USPS up there (I imagined a furtive, midnight exchange). Then the USPS would drive it down to Ashland (probably on I-5) and sneak it to a local carrier and deliver it to me.
Okay, a plan. I like having plans. Plans are good. Problem with this plan was that I’d run out of Tamsulosin on Friday, April 3. That was my last dose.
Well, damn. Not much could be done at that point. I’d tried, I consoled myself. Now my body would just need to endure without the med.
Meanwhile, the reasonable side of me said, “You prick.”
(It seems like an appropriate noun for the situation.)
“You should be thankful that there are people out there risking their health so that you can sit on your ass in the safety of your personal space. And be thankful that someone like Express Scripts exists and that you have a computer and Internet to place the order and follow the tracking information. Be thankful, you cretin, that the drugs are there, are so affordable, and that you have a urologist to help you. Stop looking at the dark side of this, you pessimistic, selfish, jerk, and think of the bigger picture and be fucking grateful.”
To which the other side of me said, “Wow. Mean.”
So, seriously, thanks to all the USPS, DHL, and Express Scripts drivers and people working and all they’re doing to help the rest of us survive. Let me not overlook all those healthcare professionals and government employees. We do appreciate it, even if some of us act like jerks.
Please forgive us for being who we are. We are trying to change. At least, one side of me is.
A quick rant, if you please. Just some first world blues.
Don’t know if others are experiencing WP issues. Here are mine.
- Couldn’t see what anyone was viewing, liking, commenting on, etc, from my homepage. Had to go to stats for that.
- Couldn’t like others’ posts. I confirmed that I was logged on.
- I could post without issue. However, my categories button was buggy, refusing to respond unless I clicked on the gear icon first.
- Then discovered I wasn’t logged in. Surprise! I’d been logged in; I’d been posting. Just couldn’t do the other things. Then, once I logged in again, all resolved.
So, if you notice that I haven’t visited your posts, I probably have, but I couldn’t comment, etc. Nothing personal; just WordPress.
- Is anyone else using the new WordPress Editor?
- Does anyone have any particular issue with it?
- Is anyone starting to hate it as much as I am?
Well, to elaborate on the last first, you probably read that and thought, I don’t know. How much are you starting to hate it?
I expect a learning curve with any change. But when I follow the process and it doesn’t come out as expected, forcing me to begin trouble-shooting, only to discover there isn’t any trouble-shooting to do, leaving me unable to post what I want when I want to post it, then I begin to hate the application.
Like, that whole thing with blocking a paragraph to work on it is irritating. So is the inability to use MS Word commands that I’m used to having.
Yes, I’m getting old and cranky. So what’s your point.
All this leads me to my real question: how do I return to the previous editor? That’ll be this weekend’s project.
I was contemplating going on strike this morning. Why not? I can, can’t I? My muses and characters go on strike when they’re disenchanted with the story. Isn’t it fair that I also go on strike?
I do not like the chapter I’m working on. It’s almost finished. The characters and muses agree, yes, that’s the chapter. It’s perfect.
My reaction is, I respectfully think you’re fucking nuts.
I’m aware that I am the writer, that the characters and muses are imaginary constructs that exist as part of my writing process. (Well, I hope that’s the case.) It’s a subject that takes me into an existential hole. I’m the writer, and I think, therefore I write, but I always seem to be driven by the muses and characters’ preferences and decisions. When I stumble in my writing, it’s generally because the characters object to the story’s direction, or the characters’ development.
This, I think, is turnabout is fair play. I object to what they’re doing. I don’t like it. There isn’t a writer’s block involved. The characters gleefully push their words their my fingers, and we make great progress toward the conclusion. So, it’s not a block. It’s a disagreement.
Frankly, the situation has been developing for a few weeks. Just a few days ago, I was complaining about my characters’ tendency to talk things over. I wanted action. No, they needed to talk it out. Well, they’re the characters, right? I’m just the writer. Despite our artistic differences, I yielded to them.
I’m going to yield to them this time, too. Because, number one, I feel the urge to write like crazy. I don’t like what I’m writing, but I feel obligated to write it. This brings up a couple questions. One, is it totally insane that I feel obligated to write it? Two, do I need to like what I’m writing?
I answer the first question, yes, you’re fucking nuts, but that’s not a problem, per se, and I answer the second one, but if I’m writing for me, shouldn’t I like what I’m writing? This prompts some internal dialogue between me, myself, and I, and the suggestion that maybe I do secretly like it, but I’m worried about how readers might react.
I’ve not put on my reader’s persona to address the issue because it’s just too early. It makes no sense to read this as a reader when I haven’t completed it as a writer. It’s a work-in-progress.
I console myself that this is the beta draft, not even the first draft, dude. I also console myself that many writers think their first draft is crap. So, you know, write the crap that the characters and muses are pushing, and then revise and edit the hell out of it once it’s written. Despite my disagreement with my muses and characters, getting it written remains the key. That’s my function as the writer. The mantra is, get it written. The mantra is, you’re still learning the story.
Okay, now that I’ve vented, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.