You could be a winner & not even know it!

Note to Self:

Dear Self,
Always check your e-mail on Fridays. Or on Saturdays. Now that you are on the list of helpers for the service, this is a necessity.
Otherwise, you will show up to church Sunday morning in high-heeled boots and learn that you are one of that day's chalice bearers.

Love,
Me


Sigh. At least I have received Communion often enough to know the words! And I did have the sense to hie myself to the library afterwards to check my e-mail for the schedule. I do Prayers of the People on the 17th of Feb & chalicework again on the 3rd March. Which I put here because I remember to check my blog more often than I do my e-mail.

A little more on Erica Smith.

In regards to this post.

I may not be able to find links to stories quite yet, as the Express-News' website isn't functioning properly for me at the moment...Ah, here we go:

Fire chief admits accident blunders

The short version:

The reason Erica Smith had no detectable pulse is that the paramedics didn't check for one. She was looked at, presumed to be dead, and covered with a tarp.

Standard operating procedure in the city is to always check for a pulse. However, that is not the way paramedics are trained here, apparently. If the trauma is violent and major (according to various reports, either part of her brain was exposed or part was on the dash board), the person is apparently assumed to be dead, & you move on to the living people.

I will leave the evaluation of the wisdom of that up to folks with more knowledge than I.

The paramedic who made the decision not to check her pulse and to cover her is no longer a paramedic in this city and never will be again. There are also three others who have been deauthorized for "an indeterminate amount of time." The harshest-punished man is identified in the newspaper, but I'm not going to repeat that identification here, as honestly I don't think it serves a purpose.

Just for the record...

Being cold does not cause the flu.

A virus causes the flu.

That will be all.

I suck at this chick stuff.

I really do. I suck at chick stuff. At emotional baggage and drama and bullshit of that sort. That is what my life has melted into lately. As I told my best friend some time back, this all wouldn't be so bad if I was able to at least walk away from my marriage with a little dignity, but not even that is being allowed.

I've been concentrating on being the sane one, and that's easier than it should be, at least relatively speaking.

Some of you will remember my entry wherein I told about Thanksgiving's brouhaha. Christmas was much calmer, thank God. We had another reset in our hearing, which my lawyer wanted for her own reasons but I wanted so we wouldn't have something that rending right before the holiday. Rob apparently asked his lawyer for 12 hours Christmas Day, but of course didn't get it (supposedly he e-mailed my lawyer but never heard back; I'm betting he e-mailed her after she'd already filed the paperwork). So I let him get the girls an hour earlier than I wanted, and all was good. And I was a good little girl & didn't even call the BCSO to report that they really were violating the court order as Rob's lawyer interpreted it (opposite sex of the children). Maggie's father Ken always stays with them for two or three weeks right around Christmas, & so was an honest-to-God overnight guest. Of course, to raise hell about it would have been pretty asinine, and so I've remained silent.

We were getting along pretty well for a while. Which is where the chick stuff comes in. This past Saturday we got, I think thisclose to reconciliation, only I happened to not be at home when he called. (Apparently my assignment is to sit at home and pine away for him when the girls are with him.) The phone conversations ranged from him wanting to come over right then and "see the house" to him being upset that he was upset that he'd lost his wedding ring, with a brief dissection of our sex life thrown in. I offered to go home right then. No, he said, go on about my business, call him when I got back.

So I did. And he went from overwrought and maybe-conciliatory back to talking to me ten seconds and then hanging up, and now has segued into not answering my calls again, with aspersions on my parenting abilities thrown in just for the hell of it.

I don't get it. I truly do not. I tend to see things in a very simple way. If you love me, stay married to me. If you don't, quit jerking my chain.

This isn't rocket science.