Tag: Aging
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The day I have to finally admit that I might be rapidly turning into Hoda.
I’ve mentioned before, but probably not on pamie.com, that I watch Kathie Lee and Hoda most mornings. That’s not exactly true — I have it on while I’m working. Depending on which part of the house I choose to work from that day (couch if I’m feeling frustrated, desk if I’m feeling self-punishey), I will…
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anxiety
Mom just brought me a chewable calcium supplement. Two, actually. “One for later,” she said, because Jason told her that Dr. Oz said somewhere that we can only absorb so much calcium at one time, so we need to take it in two doses. I am terrible at remembering to take vitamins, but I’m even…
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Making a Spectacle of Myself
As I prep to write my story of this past weekend’s bout, I figured I’d stall with these two stories. One: I got glasses. They’re only for reading, working, and driving at night, but that basically means they’re for every single second of my life. This is a big deal for me, as I used…
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Why I haven’t been updating my blog often enough: good excuses.
There’s no order of importance here, but in the last week or so I’ve had a package lost at the post office, a letter returned because it didn’t reach the recipient in time, my computer stolen, and my tailbone broken. I’m not sad or pissed off, but I am getting impatient with living my days…
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grateful and grumpy (aka: old-lady pamie)
For those of you who are crazy cat ladies/actual veterinarians/long-time fans: Thank you for writing in about Cal and his new meds. That’s very kind of you, and your advice is much appreciated. Yay for Pill Pockets. Now if only Greenies made a “Liquid-y Vomit Catcher ™” for thirty minutes after Cal’s had his medicine.…
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my first voicemail message this morning:
Ray: “Aw. Pam can’t come to the phone because she’s old.” It’s birthday week. It’s birthday week. Everybody say hi, it’s birthday week. I’m’a eata sammich, it’s birthday week. Someone give me a hug!
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writer’s ear + office ass = runner’s tears
Well, it’s official. Lately when I order my coffee from whichever boy is behind the counter that day, he calls me by my name and makes a joke about either my current order, or one I’ve had before. I’ve never had a coffee shop where people know me by name. This means I have logged…