Wearing the Sorting Hat

Not to send kids to their school houses, but to send belongings to their places. Which sounds easier than it is. I'm still not entirely firing on all cylinders, thanks to opiates. It'll be a while yet before things settle down. So sorting and decisions can get ridiculously stressful on top of having the myriad pain sites vying for attention. Yesterday I was cursing just as much as when I was packing. I'm sure that thrilled the old bitty next door who is such a charmer that we haven't even met yet but it's already a hallway war. Smoking has become such a sin in this country that anyone feels totally entitled to make your life Hell if you light up, even in your own home. Fuck their Pilgrim self-righteousness. There is no real proof that secondhand smoke does anything to anyone. Look for it. It isn't real. It's all anti-smoking PR. But the anti-smokers get away with whatever they do while we're made into pariahs. Anyway, after Brian walked thru the hallway with a lit cigarette and she filled the building with old lady stinking spray, I counterattacked with Lysol. This is now a daily battle; she chokes me with sickening sweet stale old shit and I blast back with "fresh linen". It's not enough that she thinks she owns the whole hallway with tacky hangings and her shoe tray out there; she owns the air there too? I was raised to respect and be nice to the elderly, but what if they're nasty selfish shitheads? I treat as I'm treated. Be a bitch and I'll be a bitch right back. This could get ugly. Ah well, back to sorting...