Speech and a Haircut
I seem to speak a little bit of everything:
Your Linguistic Profile:45% Yankee30% General American English10% Upper Midwestern5% Dixie0% Midwestern
What Kind of American English Do You Speak?
In other news, I got my hair cut and dyed today. Unfortunately, I had a twelve o'clock appointment, and Dial-A-Ride didn't show up till ten of twelve. This meant that I was late for my appointment and had to...well, you can't run with a walker, but the next best thing to it. For those wondering, it's something between a mile and a half to two miles between Macy's and J.C. Penney's--they're on opposite sides of the mall. I did get there, but my legs were aching and wobbly by the time I staggered into the salon. Going back was even worse, because I got done at two and Dial-A-Ride was supposed to arrive at two. By the time I exited Macy's again, I was seeing black spots in front of my eyes. Not a good sign; that was one of the things that sometimes happened in the hospital when I was about to black out. I was actually grateful for having a walker; the walker gave me something to brace myself against. A cane wouldn't have been sufficient. And passing out on concrete would NOT be a good thing.
Fortunately, I didn't have to wait. Dial-A-Ride showed up seconds after I left the building. Which was very, very good.
I got home, sat down, ate lunch and went to bed. Didn't get up till eleven. My legs needed it.
And I've got to go out again tomorrow. Groan.
Sometimes I wonder how all those sick and dying writers and poets managed to be so bloody prolific. Didn't they ever have to get haircuts or shop or pay taxes? They weren't all married or rich. How come they didn't get exhausted just doing ordinary things?
Your Linguistic Profile:45% Yankee30% General American English10% Upper Midwestern5% Dixie0% Midwestern
What Kind of American English Do You Speak?
In other news, I got my hair cut and dyed today. Unfortunately, I had a twelve o'clock appointment, and Dial-A-Ride didn't show up till ten of twelve. This meant that I was late for my appointment and had to...well, you can't run with a walker, but the next best thing to it. For those wondering, it's something between a mile and a half to two miles between Macy's and J.C. Penney's--they're on opposite sides of the mall. I did get there, but my legs were aching and wobbly by the time I staggered into the salon. Going back was even worse, because I got done at two and Dial-A-Ride was supposed to arrive at two. By the time I exited Macy's again, I was seeing black spots in front of my eyes. Not a good sign; that was one of the things that sometimes happened in the hospital when I was about to black out. I was actually grateful for having a walker; the walker gave me something to brace myself against. A cane wouldn't have been sufficient. And passing out on concrete would NOT be a good thing.
Fortunately, I didn't have to wait. Dial-A-Ride showed up seconds after I left the building. Which was very, very good.
I got home, sat down, ate lunch and went to bed. Didn't get up till eleven. My legs needed it.
And I've got to go out again tomorrow. Groan.
Sometimes I wonder how all those sick and dying writers and poets managed to be so bloody prolific. Didn't they ever have to get haircuts or shop or pay taxes? They weren't all married or rich. How come they didn't get exhausted just doing ordinary things?