That doesn't really look anything like him though.
My mother is home from the hospital as of this afternoon. It was a little dicey this morning, but the doctor ultimately decided to go ahead and write discharge orders. Of course there had to be some snag: He wrote the wrong date on the prescriptions, necessitating several phone calls and trips to the pharmacy. The problem is still not solved, but I'm hoping it will unsnarl itself by morning when I make yet another trip to the pharmacy. Sometimes small town incompetence rivals bigger city indifference when it comes to medical care, I find.
Anyway.
This is a small town, Deming.
I won't complain too much about it, except that I feel I should say that their radio stations suck. They suck so much that I was compelled to shop for CDs at Wal-mart to listen to in the car. (Wal-mart. I hate Wal-mart. Hate it.) Still, I bought two CDs there, compilations, one by Van Halen (the David Lee Roth Van Halen, which is the only legitimate Van Halen as far as I'm concerned) and one by Fleetwood Mac which has one of my favorite songs on it, Silver Springs. That song kills me every time.
God, Stevie Nicks.
I haven't mentioned the weather much, have I? A few days ago, it was 108 degrees. Most days climb into the 100s. In the afternoons, the wind kicks up and blows dust everywhere. There's an especial lot of dust because we're in a drought and in addition to various understandably draconian watering laws that are in effect, the surrounding desert is dry as a bone. Sounds funny to say that the desert is dry, but one of the things that you come to appreciate when you live in the midst of so many, say, sub-types of desert is how some of them are less dry than others.
God that's boring. Sorry.
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