So the phone line that AT&T is taking away in six weeks died again at the same hub across the neighborhood a week after they finally repaired it after waiting months but at least this time they sent someone out right away.

Who after some hours over there and over here said he thought he’d fixed it–but he’d turned it off at all but one room of the house, till Richard went out there with a test phone and helped walk him through what he’d unplugged and got everything restored by getting him to plug those over there back in like they’d been before he came. (No you are not going to be able to say it must be inside the house so the company can charge us for the visit because it never was.)

And then I had to take a second try at figuring out how to say what I had to say because there was so much that could go wrong. Yesterday’s rough draft? Edit edit edit.

There was a long long line at the post office for that registered letter I wanted to send.

IRS, huh? asked the guy to the whole crowd. Gee thanks dude.

Oh well, might as well now, so, Yeah, I told him, they hit us last year with a big fine over an account we have nothing to do with, we paid it, they went oh sorry our mistake and refunded the fine (they paid interest on it!) we thought that was all settled and they suddenly decided a year later that we owe it all over again.

We don’t. So, yeah. IRS.

I didn’t say, and they sent us a threatening letter months after the check had cleared last year, telling us to pay it a second time, and our protest of that is what got them to go oh wait and refund us.

Possibly because there are three people with the same name in the same town? Two on one street till last year. Redelivered their mail when I needed to but never did get to meet them.

On the way home there was a shiny new big and black gas-guzzler Ford 150 pickup with a bumper sticker that was–supposed to be funny? I mean, they certainly didn’t put their money where their mouth was? “I identify as a Tesla.”

Then why didn’t you buy one?

It was not a day for relaxing and knitting. But finally after dinner I made myself sit down with it.

And promptly knitted a purl row in knit stitches all the way across before I realized it.

I decided to fix it by dropping each stitch one at a time, flipping the yarn to the other side, picking it up, and knitting the next row right then and there. Easy, right, and progress, too!

Two hundred and twenty eight times. Don’t do that. It’s harder to keep the tension even, and with a splitty yarn knitted doubled on the purl ridge where it will show the most… An hour. Next time just tink back and start over.

Some days you just need to stop and go do something else.

I need some knitting to relax me from my knitting. Just not that one right now.

To which my helpful brain suddenly earworms Rick Nelson’s song written after performing at Madison Square Garden: “And if memories were all I sang? I’d rather drive a truck.”