Anyone have a hobbit hole for rent?

Okay, guys, I need a hobbit hole. Preferably in New Zealand, although they are back in lockdown after one case of COVID. 

It all started on Tuesday, when I went to a new skin doctor and was told that I needed, among other things, to wear a pair of compression stockings. After hearing that, I feel like I should also be shopping for a walker and/or cane. (The stockings are for a good reason; to improve blood circulation, but I still can’t shake the feeling that these are for people older than I am! I will be 58 in October.) 

Yesterday, I measured my leg to get a proper fit for said stockings. My thigh circumference is bigger than Scarlett O’Hara’s waistline in Gone With the Wind! (No, I will not reveal my thigh measurements.) No wonder Southern women were always getting the vapors and fainting.  They couldn’t breathe! 

Next, I spent thirteen hours over two days proofreading a transcript littered with inaudibles, mistranscriptions, dropped words, dropped portions of sentences, and sentences that were completely dropped from the transcript.  This was not the court reporter’s fault; she was working under difficult circumstances. Nor is it my employer’s fault.  They work to meet deadlines from above.  The person who did the transcription . . . I’ll be charitable and say that they probably need plenty of practice.

Then yesterday, I started seeing reports about a truck parked near the US Capitol which allegedly had explosives.  After January 6th, that would be frightening enough.  

When I heard where the truck was, my eyes nearly popped.  

It would halfway make sense if that truck was parked outside of the Capitol, the White House, the Supreme Court, or even the Jefferson Memorial.

But the place where this nutcase chose to park his truck and air his complaints was . . . The Library of Congress.

I’m a former librarian. What this guy did was not just unlawful and dangerous. It amounts to blasphemy!

I was left shaking my head and thinking, The Library of Congress? Of all places? 

****

My above comments should be read with an appropriate amount of snark. These below comments are meant to be read without snark. 

When the nutcase parked his truck, employees at the Library of Congress and surrounding buildings had to be evacuated. I wonder how many people had flashbacks to January 6th, especially the Capitol Police. When you hear the word “bomb” you have to take it seriously. Especially in this day and age. 

I snark about wearing compression stockings, but they’re for a good health reason. At least I know where I can get them. And I hope it will help my skin problems (I have stasis dermatitis on my left leg.)

My job can be stressful at times, but I’m employed. Many are not. 

I told my husband that my experience proofing that particular transcript was a new definition of hell . . . but Afghani refugees, and Afghanis who can’t get out — especially women and girls — are living their own hell which is much worse than me having to proofread a difficult transcript. 

But yeah, I’d still like to have a hobbit hole to hide out in, if for no other reason than to have an excuse for a second breakfast. 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

"I'm too young for this!"

Several years ago, a young man in the youth ministry replied, "Yes, ma'am," when I asked him a question.

Later, I said to his mother, "I appreciated his manners, but I'm too young to be a ma'am!"

We both laughed as I said that. 

Today, I had another episode of, "I'm too young for this!" 

It all began with a trip to the dermatologist's office. I've been having serious discoloration and itching on my left leg for some time; have had two biopsies, both showing "spongiotic dermatitis", and finally decided to try a new dermatologist.  When I made the appointment, I said "eczema" was my problem.

The dermatologist came into the examining room, took one look at my leg, and said, it's not eczema, you've got some fluid buildup there.  The official name for my condition is stasis dermatitis.  

He's prescribed me a skin cream and also told me that there's a skin cream that can help with the itching. 

He's also told me to get a pair of . . . wait for it . . . compression stockings.  

He explained that it was supposed to help with the fluid . . . but all I could think was, "Compression stockings?  Those are for old people. I'll be 58 in October.  I'm too young for this!"

I am also supposed to keep the left leg elevated above the heart when possible.   

I told the doc, "Gee, thanks," sarcastically.  Later, I apologized for my snarkiness and said that what I hoped was healthy snark was one of the ways I dealt with things.  I think the doc understood.  I did tell  him, in all seriousness, that at least this was something that I could do (and told the nurse afterwards that it's better than hearing, there's nothing you can do.) 

On the way out of the building where the doc's office is, I stopped at their pharmacy and got a bottle of the over the counter stuff to help with the itching. 

So, I will be off to the Internet, that purveyor of all things necessary (and most things unnecessary) to find myself a pair of compression stockings. 

And since I'm supposed to be keeping my leg elevated, I am sorely tempted to call my insurance company and ask if they would be willing to pay for a La-z-Boy recliner because I need it for medical purposes.

I am sure, however, that their answer -- delivered with the appropriate snark, of course -- will be, "No."

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.