Claimant

Time off seems so rare, I barely know what to do with it all. Four days seems a very long stretch. This may say something rather unpleasant about my life, that I don't get a month in the country every summer. Not even the two weeks vacation my father got from the factory. Or about the world. Certainly about how the US workforce is treated. But I get my days, here and there, rather than in a lump, and that suits me well enough. I barely get tired of doing nothing, and the break is over.

Thoroughly enjoying the idleness, time with D, and the cats. We have come to enjoy preparing meals together. We have always talked together, made each other laugh





She has definitively claimed us. Moby is more content in himself, these days, secure in our love, on walkabout in his own dreamtime.

We got a few bits of much needed clothing. Most of mine has gotten rather shabby, mostly because I don't wear my own clothes for work. Except for the cotton hats. Sent for a couple more of those. I could wear the paper bouffants, but the elastic, to which I have a mild allergy, leaves a red mark across my forehead, and it doesn't hold my hair in. The fabric ones keep my hair from drying out as much, they stay on without needing to be reminded, and they are colorful. Makes me easy to identify from a distance, patients remember me.

I've resigned myself to simply buying men's clothing. Can't find a shirt among the women's clothes that doesn't cling or is in a putrid color, or won't go through the laundry twice before disintegrating. Women's jeans aren't quite so bad, if I stick to the old brands. My clothes are so utilitarian these days, nearly impossible for me to dress up. A few skirts, no fancy shirts, even dressy sweaters, to go over. Always a botch. Nothing new, really, just a matter of degree.

So, I buy medium men's shirts, and slouch provocatively, you know, like in the ads.