The 16th & 17th; Mundane, trivial shit.
The 16th of July. Today has just been one of mundane, trivial shit that is frustrating and takes forever. Having updated my blog, I went to the iMac and set about updating the music on my iPod and backing up my phone.
However, first I had to do a load of updates to the iMac itself, including a new version of iTunes. For some reason, this deleted the iTunes library, so I had to find it instead of redownloading everything from the cloud.
Eventually I was able to start trying to back up my phone, but got the error message saying the phone had been disconnected (which was a lie). I restarted everything, did every job very slowly and finally, at about quarter past five, it was finished. Sorting my iPod was a breeze, thank God.
Car isn't back yet. Tomorrow they're going to drive it up a hill and we'll see what happens then.
I just had a phone call from hospital saying as there was no clot in my scan, there was no need for more tests because the swelling was improving. Except it ISN'T, it hasn't improved for THREE FUCKING WEEKS. I am back in clinic when we get back and I'm getting this fucking sorted because I don't want to be dealing with this at Becky's wedding.
The 17th of July.
Well, I spent my morning waiting for the nurses to come and flush my line, and they finally turned up at quarter to twelve. They were here for quite a while, as one was being trained by the other, so it was all a bit slow. When they were finished, Mommy and I had lunch, then sorted out my clothes for Falmouth. The weather looks like it'll be really mixed, but I can't take jeans or boots because my right leg doesn't really fit into them.
Having done that, Mommy took me to the gym, where I didn't do everything I usually do because one machine was out of order and another was just forever occupied so I gave up waiting for it. A man spat on the floor near me which was upsetting. Why do that? Can he not cope with the amount of spit in his mouth? I left shortly after that.
I've not got much left to do for tomorrow. Last minute morning stuff which is just as well as we're leaving at eight.