Just call me Cleo.

Yesterday I drove my parents two hours each way so that my mom could see and visit with her sister.  This is a once-a-year occurrence and we try to find a mid-way point between them (VT) and my cousin (CT).  I won't bore you with the gory details, but it was an enlightening experience and taught me many things - mostly: a) work on my patience level (alternately, heavily medicate myself) and, b) put tracking devices on parents when going into large shopping venues.

Back to my main point (a little AADD going on here).  I was on schedule to do chores, clean up the kitchen, take a shower, find something presentable to wear, await my parents' arrival and off we would go, with tons of extra time.  Then I found Bartie with a bad, wheezy cough.  Then Flora blindsided him when my back was turned and he was inhaling his grain.  When I turned around, he was on his side, legs sticking straight out, doing his best imitation of a dead lamb.  I screeched and almost vaulted the fence to find that he just had the wind knocked out of him, but he was dazed and wobbly and his wheezing was much worse.  So...into the hoop house in quarantine he went with a nice dry layer of bedding hay and a nice pile of eating hay and his own water.  Much *speaking in tongues* to Flora and the useless threat of "no shelter for you!"  Then race inside to call my neighbor for help in giving him his antibiotic shot (it's a two-person job).  Then five minutes to get back inside and take a shower, grab at anything clothes-wise that seemed to match, then out the door.

I suppose I keep planning things so that I can delude myself into thinking that I have some kind of control over my life.  That's me, Cleo, Queen of Denial.