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mallorys_cameraThe DMV refused to register the new car because my middle name was on my driver’s license but not on my insurance card.
This is just crazy.
I have a highly unusual name, with or without the middle name. There is only one of me living in the entire U.S. of A!!!!
I wanted to cry or go on a DMV-shooting spree, but you know: What good would that do?
In the time of covid, we must all get used to living in a Kafkaesque nightmare.
So, I called my insurance people, requisitioned a new insurance card, and took the registration back to the mysterious Drop Box. It will take another three weeks for them to find something wrong with this application, I’m sure.
###
I did a lot of errands yesterday, in fact, but of course, there are always more errands to do. Errands metastasize.
In the late afternoon, I had to scurry down to the mall, always a disheartening proposition even in times when mankind is not facing a devastating plague.
I’d say roughly 40% of the storefronts are empty plus at least one of the anchor tenants is going out of business:
Too bad I don’t want any ugly polyester clothing, designed by Kim Kardashian and made in a Vietnamese sweatshop, right?
I’d come to the mall to buy new shoes. I actually wore my sneakers out, pounding the pavements on behalf of the National Counting Project, and there is this one mall shoe store that must send me five emails a day, promising fabulous discounts and an endlessly enticing array of shoes that will turn my feet into objects of adoration for every podophile in a five-mile radius.
I have very big feet. Size 11—the same size as Jackie Kennedy! They were smaller once, but they went up a full size with each pregnancy I brought to term.
Anyway, the shoe store was a complete disaster with absolutely nothing in stock, and I was forced to visit three separate stores before I could find a pair of shoes that did not make my feet look like something clowns use to extort laughs from Mennonites and that actually fit.
I also ducked into Best Buy and bought a (cheap) 24-inch monitor.
My heart was pounding.
You are spending money on yourself without any practical reason for doing so!, scolded the savage little voice that lives inside my head.
Yes, it’s true. I bought the monitor for my own entertainment. So, I could play video games.
Baaaaaaaaaad dog!
###
It’s supposed to rain all day today, so I could play video games all day long, I suppose. Except there are some items on the Never-Depleting List of Errands that can be accomplished rain or shine plus my living space looks like the entire cast of Hoarders has been crashing here, and my writing clients are getting pushy.
Also, I got a text from someone called Jessica.
I’m your new National Counting Project CFS! it said. Let’s touch base tomorrow!
I am not signed up to work tomorrow, I thought. In fact, I may never sign up to work again.
But why be difficult?
What-evah. Sure. Let’s be BFF!
It’s sad to think they’ve gotten rid of Huck, whom I had come to like. He actually turns out to live only a mile away from me in the Historic District, and I would see him out walking his dog, a skinny little man in bright purple sneakers who looked like Andy Warhol in a covid mask, only with better skin and his own hair.
I don’t like him enough to give a shit about the story behind his separation from the National Counting Project, however.
This is just crazy.
I have a highly unusual name, with or without the middle name. There is only one of me living in the entire U.S. of A!!!!
I wanted to cry or go on a DMV-shooting spree, but you know: What good would that do?
In the time of covid, we must all get used to living in a Kafkaesque nightmare.
So, I called my insurance people, requisitioned a new insurance card, and took the registration back to the mysterious Drop Box. It will take another three weeks for them to find something wrong with this application, I’m sure.
###
I did a lot of errands yesterday, in fact, but of course, there are always more errands to do. Errands metastasize.
In the late afternoon, I had to scurry down to the mall, always a disheartening proposition even in times when mankind is not facing a devastating plague.
I’d say roughly 40% of the storefronts are empty plus at least one of the anchor tenants is going out of business:
Too bad I don’t want any ugly polyester clothing, designed by Kim Kardashian and made in a Vietnamese sweatshop, right?
I’d come to the mall to buy new shoes. I actually wore my sneakers out, pounding the pavements on behalf of the National Counting Project, and there is this one mall shoe store that must send me five emails a day, promising fabulous discounts and an endlessly enticing array of shoes that will turn my feet into objects of adoration for every podophile in a five-mile radius.
I have very big feet. Size 11—the same size as Jackie Kennedy! They were smaller once, but they went up a full size with each pregnancy I brought to term.
Anyway, the shoe store was a complete disaster with absolutely nothing in stock, and I was forced to visit three separate stores before I could find a pair of shoes that did not make my feet look like something clowns use to extort laughs from Mennonites and that actually fit.
I also ducked into Best Buy and bought a (cheap) 24-inch monitor.
My heart was pounding.
You are spending money on yourself without any practical reason for doing so!, scolded the savage little voice that lives inside my head.
Yes, it’s true. I bought the monitor for my own entertainment. So, I could play video games.
Baaaaaaaaaad dog!
###
It’s supposed to rain all day today, so I could play video games all day long, I suppose. Except there are some items on the Never-Depleting List of Errands that can be accomplished rain or shine plus my living space looks like the entire cast of Hoarders has been crashing here, and my writing clients are getting pushy.
Also, I got a text from someone called Jessica.
I’m your new National Counting Project CFS! it said. Let’s touch base tomorrow!
I am not signed up to work tomorrow, I thought. In fact, I may never sign up to work again.
But why be difficult?
What-evah. Sure. Let’s be BFF!
It’s sad to think they’ve gotten rid of Huck, whom I had come to like. He actually turns out to live only a mile away from me in the Historic District, and I would see him out walking his dog, a skinny little man in bright purple sneakers who looked like Andy Warhol in a covid mask, only with better skin and his own hair.
I don’t like him enough to give a shit about the story behind his separation from the National Counting Project, however.
