Moving day...

We moved the rest of grandpa's stuff today. I shouldn't say "we", I did nothing. Dorothy tried to hang the curtain rods we purchased, but the most she was able to do was put two new holes in the wall...oh well, it wasn't me...

I would not put anything away. I was itching to organize the kitchen, but was able to keep my seat. I am tired of hearing that "I can't find anything" whine from the geezer that I am determined to let him screw it up himself. He is never pleased with anything, so I figure, go at it old man.

He decided to take his new toy, his electric wheelchair (don't ask...he is worse than a kid with stuff and it makes me totally nuts...)downstairs to supposedly help Paul get the rest of the stuff out of the car. Like Paul needed the old fart to tell him how to unload a car...! He comes back up to the apartment out of breath, grey faced and visibly upset. (How someone can change their face color is totally beyond me....) hollering "Somebody has stolen my scooter! This is KILLING ME! Someone stole my scooter." He goes back down the hall and finds some poor maintenance guy and tells him that somebody took his scooter. The guy comes into the apt, looking all around, and then both he and goofy go back downstairs. Paul comes up, assesses the situation and heads out to look for the scooter. Goofball is sitting in his chair, looking like he is gonna die right there and then. Paul calls, he found the scooter. This geezer suddenly perks up, his demeanor totallly changes and his normal pasty color is back. All I can do is grit my teeth and bite my tongue. How can you lose a wheelchair? Apparently he stopped at the door near the loading dock, got out and looked for Paul. He claims he turned around and the chair was GONE! OK. Sure. It rode itself away. Paul says he found it right at the door to the loading dock, still on...apparently he had gotten off and TURNED down the wrong way into the hallway. For heavens sakes, this man will kill me and Paul and laugh as we are lowered into the freaking ground. He is now THEIR problem...he couldn't open the door to the apt, and had to get someone up there to "show" him how to unlock the door....the wheelchair incident and a ton of other things...Dorothy said he didn't know how to get to his apt. Like I said...HE is THEIR problem now!

Dorothy and I made his bed, but of course, the bedspread was not to his liking. After this I left using the excuse that my furbabies were in the kennel and needed a potty. I go home, walked the kids, and then sat in my recliner doing deep breathing excercises...I did a cleansing of my mind...I had to rid my poor brain of all thoughts of murder, thoughts of slapping and thoughts of screaming at him. It took a LONG time to do this, you must understand.

I am home alone this evening, both of the males are playing poker. I hope they both lose.

later
dee