Extreme Prejudice towards Amazon overcomes me owing to not knowing proper way to input country dialing code of United States in application on website. Type various formats of personal telephone number in tiny boxes over and over for many hours. Am reminded of old saying, Doing Same Thing Over and Over is Definition of Insanity.
Send message to Support, begging that they enlighten me as to what is needed. Finally discover proper dialing code from search of internet. Problem not one of style, but of content. Dear Support answers next day with specific instructions to fill in Tiny Boxes. Since I mastered Tiny Boxes yesterday, Support’s answer, while no doubt sincere, now unnecessary and unhelpful. (Tiny Boxes should prove no problem for Little People.)
(During entire incident, other old motto recrudesces in memory, which was favorite of dear Mother’s: Patience Is A Virtue. This had immediate and undesirable effect of irritating me no end.)
Have never, to my certain knowledge, had to supply anyone with USA country dialing code, even when employed as flight attendant. Cannot fathom why Amazon would need to call me from another country. If it becomes necessary, they now have correct code.
Quite disgusted with whole thing, and have recourse to bottle of wine. (NB: Comfort and validation typically not provided by bottles of wine, but helpful for forgetting reasons for temper.) Tantrums when dealing with internet quite common.
(Query presents itself: Are we shortening our lives with stress-related frustration stemming from use of computers and technology purported to be life enhancing? Medical websites available to diagnose if symptoms occur).
Am right on time for lunch date with dear friend, who is watching for me from fourteen stories above the street. When I call her after some minutes have elapsed, she tells me she was looking for blue van, instead of green truck. Have not driven blue van for almost a year, and have picked her up in green truck at least three times since then, but beg her to come downstairs, anyway.
Afterwards, continue on to physical therapy as prescribed by doctor. Sessions come to an end, and am still no further to understanding purpose of an activity that I could not only do at home, but one that manages to make me feel worse when I leave, than when I arrive. Actual manipulation and touching by Therapist occurs for five minutes out of each hour spent in clinic.
Am reminded of dear mother’s physical therapist, who showed up for fifteen minutes, had mother sit on edge of bed, circle her arms and legs, and then wave goodbye cheerily as she drove off in her new sports car. ( Therapy joins other employment choices as being one I Should Have Done, instead of having actually worked for a living.)
Leaf-peeping plans continue apace for refreshment of soul. However, plans become moot as Time Marches On and leaves leave trees. Many colorful leaves were within day’s drive of city, but spare day for Peeping remained elusive.
(Bordellos also within a few hour’s drive of city, but have little to do with refreshment of soul.)