The opposite of gratitude involves women behind veils

That's Door Number 9 at the Social Security Administration office where I walked today, pushing Sophie, for our 1:15 appointment. I had thought we were summoned to prove, again, that Sophie is still disabled, but we were actually there for a random review. Evidently, these happen randomly -- maybe once a year, or maybe every four months, you never know, the clerk told us. You'll come back separately to establish her disability for another year, she added cheerfully. I was in a funk from things unbloggable when I started out with Sophie, determined to walk it off. What I didn't realize was how far the building was and how difficult it was to push Sophie in the wheelchair part of the Duet bicycle and how hot it was outside. Can I reveal that I wept a bit behind my sunglasses? When I finally pushed through the doors and went through security, I was too overcome to even care that a tiny wizened old woman with what appeared to be a sheet wrapped around her head, shielding everything but her eyes, glared at me as she sat waiting. Well, I confess to recognizing perhaps a modicum of irony in her stare/glare, and I might have muttered freak in a veil in my mind, but I pushed Sophie past all the gawkers and collapsed. For some godforsaken reason, Sophie is choosing to withhold liquid today, so I spent the rest of the hour waiting and trying to coax her to drink from her sippee cup.

When the review was finished, we walked back home, and while I would have preferred to lie down on my bed, remove my sunglasses and have a good cry, I was kept alert and wired by the jackhammers digging the trench on the side of the house. But now I'm boring myself, so I'll call it a day.

Sayonara. 

May the force be with you.