The amazing power of tranquilizers. I can tell I'm wearing down on this "soaking Ken's foot" thing. Tonight, in the snowstorm I had to exchange the floodlights that I bought for him last night (I got the 75 watt bulbs, he wanted the 150 watters), so I went to Lowes on my way home. Got to Ken's, climbed on the ladder & put in the new bulb. Easy, pleasant, no problem. Had a drink, soaked the foot, listened ad nauseum to the tales of the visitors he had today, including someone who used to be caretaker for friends here on the lake but who is basically a self-centered (Republican) in-for-his-own-good person. So I hear about Leo for an hour ad nauseum. He got caught selling his shifts as a corrections officer and it cost him a lot of money not to go to jail. Do I feel sorry for him? not in the least. Anyway, I have an ok time with Ken but admit that I'm watching the clock, and at 7 say I have to go. Not just yet, says Ken, I want to show you what I accomplished today. So we go through the dining room and look over the shelves that he cleaned today and the things he discovered. Finally I escape into the snow, heading home at last. Of course Roger has not plowed so I park at the end of the driveway and walk with my flashlight (which I so smartly remembered to put in the car in the morning) to the house, lugging all the stuff I have in the car that I need tonight.

What greets me in my home, my house, my refuge? The overwhelming stench of dog shit. Jackson has shit all over the rugs, two huge piles of runny shit. I hate that smell, can't stand it in my house. So I cry, fed up with care of old men, old dogs, and dog shit. I throw the dogs out, put on rubber gloves, get out the plastic bags and paper towels and clean up the mess. Burn incense but still the smell is in my nostrils. I can't get rid of it and I cry and cry. I have another week of care of Ken's foot to go and I just offered to take the afternoon off for his next appointment so he won't have to drive home alone in the dusk. WHERE ARE HIS CHILDREN? I love him dearly and of course would do anything for him: but ALL the time? I have to drive 30 miles home from Platts., turn around and drive the same 30 miles over again to get him to the doctor, then drive the same 30 miles again to get him home. Plus I'll take him to have his blood tested so he won't have do drive himself another time to do that again. I sense a pattern emerging here...

So pardon this rant, this teary spew. I don't want this dog, he shits in the house if I don't get home in time, and I don't get home in time because I'm taking care of dear Ken. It's snowing and Roger doesn't seem to be plowing my driveway this winter. I may have enough wood to get me through tonight but I'll just have to get up earlly (not my forte) to have enough to stoke the stove for the day tomorrow.

BUT: I had a voice mail message from my insurance company sayaing they're mailing me a check for my $250 deductible from my Dec. accident (when the woman ran the red light). After all, tomorrow is another day.