Late night (9:02 pm).

Apologies to online people with whom I normally engage in lengthly banter back and forth through emails -- I haven't forgotten you, I've just not figured out exactly when to fit in everything now that I'm up all day. Yes, working nights is madness; but when you do it long enough you learn to make the madness work for you. This feels more natural, but suddenly the evenings are filled up with other things and going online does not take precedence over sleep. Plus my priority tends to be to post in here, and just tonight it took over 25 minutes for the "new post" page to load, thanks to the wonder that is Alltel. Yes, my internet connection at home is lousy. But it's either this or get a phone line, pay phone bills, and then get an ISP, blah blah blah blah, and yes this is honestly the cheapest, easiest way for me to go online. Plus I do like the portability of it.

Today we mailed HCFAs. That's pronounced roughly "hickfahs" (not gonna bother with the IPA). It's how you submit claims to the insurance companies. Made a million piles of HCFAs on the floor arranged by company and then went through and separated them out by date of service. Then Bill printed envelopes and labels and I put 'em in. Entered some patient records and posted one deposit, which seems to me to be the most complicated part because I'm still not clear on what to do with all the denials which come in maybe a dozen common varieties (and a zillion uncommon varieties) and they all have to be dealt with differently.

Ate lunch with Leo at this little hole in the wall family restaurant very nearby. Burgers and burritos in one of those spaces that seems to be a different family restaurant every few months. It was really pretty good, except that they messed up our orders, and their coffeepot exploded, and it was kind of pricey for what it was. But heck, I respect 'em for setting up shop at all, and they were *really*, *really* nice, though kind of in that sad "maybe we're failing because we're not nice enough, so let's be nicer" way. Sad though -- one of those places you just *know* won't last for very long. Completely empty when you walk in, greasy air from thirty years ago, two people working, both family members, lots of mistakes, in a building completely ill-suited to the purpose at hand. Dirty kitchen not their fault but just made permanently dirty over years to the point that you *can't* deep clean it. Signs facing the wrong way, left over from previous tenants of the space advertising things put on the new tenants' menuboards not because they specialise in that but just because it's on the sign and come to be expected. Reminds me of the little short-lived Russian place in El Paso that I ate in every day for a month just because I *knew* I'd never get borscht like they made it once they closed, and the sword of Damocles was visibly hanging over the owner's head. The burgers were delicious. But burgers and breakfast burritos ain't enough to keep people comin' back, I fear.

I bought a fan! I still refuse to get an air conditioner, but the whole "I'm only going to use antiques" thing kinda fell apart where fans were concerned when I got cats. You know -- the nifty old ones you could stick your whole hand into while the blades are spinning. Lovely, yes, but way too dangerous. It's the same reason I don't *use* any of the kerosene lamps (except the radioactive Thorium mantle lamp, from time to time, because I *do* like to live *slightly* dangerously, and the light *is* unique). I *could* live by kerosene light, if I had to, but I'm not gonna waste the kerosene I have and kill myself with carbon monoxide 'til I actually *do* have to. Meaning when I have to take cover in the fallout shelter behind my apartment. In the meantime they look pretty and that's good enough for me, for now.

The air conditioner on my car is dead. It blows but doesn't cool the air. You think I'm getting it fixed? With the interlock? Hell no. "Yeah you can fix it but I have to stay here all day long and maybe into tomorrow while you do it so I can blow into the car every time you need to start it for whatever". That little car has served me well but it's got some sort of evil gypsy curse on it (nothing against the gypsies). Did long before I ever got it. Can't really go into the details of that here but I do know it's true. As it is now, the windshield's cracked, the driver's side lock has to be locked from the outside, the passenger-side front door has to be locked and unlocked from the inside, but opened from the outside (meaning either I play "chauffer" or riders get to roll down the window to let themselves out), the trunk can only be opened from the lever underneath the driver's seat, and so on. I've gotten half a dozen tickets over broken taillights and license plate lights and aside from the Night of the Thirteen Martinis, seem only to get stopped for the stoopidest reasons, and then, fairly regularly. Good motor! Great mileage! But everything *around* the motor's falling apart, being made of cheap plastic that disintegrates in the sun. The car is cursed. Bah. But I can't quite live without it.

Don Schraeder's right -- I am addicted to my car! Damn it, I still need to return those books to him.