Do I even need to tell you that the last couple of days have been brutal? You can pretty much assume that by now.

First, Tim calls me before eight on Monday morning. He twisted his knee on Friday, and now he’s taken himself to the doctor. They want to do an MRI, but they won’t do it until I get him a workers comp claim number. Just what I needed! Extra paperwork, first thing Monday morning. And on top of that, I have to talk to someone from the insurance company. I think I’m the one who needs compensation.

Then later in the day, I get a call from a banker. A banker! I don’t talk to bankers. This guy says Tim asked him to call me about refinancing the loan we got to purchase The Kennel. When I get a call from a banker out of the blue, and he starts talking banking talk, I get this hazy feeling that I’m about to zone out. I tried to tell him that he should talk to the Boss, but he didn’t want to “bother” the Boss, if we could handle this little matter between us.

Well, we can’t handle it between us, because he rattles off a list of documents and reports that I’m not prepared to (a) find, or (2) surrender to a banker, without authorization from the Boss. He sends me an email with the same long list, and I fax it to the Boss, hoping he’ll make this thing go away. I, for one, don’t mind “bothering” him.

Today I talked to the Boss about the banker’s call, and he agreed with me that by the time we got all these papers together for him, we would have expended more time and money than we could possibly save by refinancing. (I’m sure that’s not true, but I did casually drop Julie’s name. She would have done all this work for us, and dealt with the banker, if she were still around. I’m sure the Boss appreciated hearing that.)

The Boss called Tim and tried to tell him to call off the banker. Naturally, Tim went ballistic. So I guess we’re going to have to find a way to gather all these documents and get them to this guy. What a pain. It’s all I needed. My days are already full enough. (But I did need something new to complain about, so at least I’m grateful for that.)

Also yesterday, due to a miscommunication, I spent an hour searching the local high school campus for an eight-year-old boy whom I was supposed to pick up from his first day at soccer camp. Somehow I didn’t get the word that he’d never been dropped off, and therefore didn’t need to be picked up. It was just a simple misunderstanding, but I was in a bit of a panic when I thought of poor D.J., lost or stolen. (And in a bit more of a panic when I thought about explaining it to Tammy.) But all’s well that ends. Well? Isn’t that what they say?