Pic of the Week
Harvey Carignan was not a nice man.
Ann Rule is a wonderful true crime writer.
This was not a true crime book on a normal par with Ann Rule.
I love Ann Rule, let me state this right now, right up front, with truth and honesty.
I didn't much like this book.
No wait! I DID like this book, I liked it about as much as I like most any other well-written true crime book. I was disappointed in that it was written by the Queen of True Crime and I didn't love it.
I am currently reading a book by Ann Rule and I love it. So she hasn't lost her touch. It's more how she wrote this book that made it go a tad flat for me.
Rule evidently had a lot of access to this murdering nut job who murdered four women, if not more.
We learn about Carignan's pathetic life, his alleged childhood abuse and, let's kick the elephant in the room, the fact that Carignan is a very stupid man.
He's dumber than an entire box of rocks and yet several women who were way smarter acted without caution. Meeting someone for a job interview, interviewer will drive?
Not to blame the victims, of course, but a stupid man with primitive violent impulses preys on such women.
I did read the entire book so it was interesting and readable.
The story of the vulnerable women was the most interesting part of the book.
Drivel: Fingers, Wheels and Groceries
A lot has been happening here and I wasn't able to update you because I was restricted from computer time by my Worker's Comp doctor. But I guess I should start at the beginning, eh?
On the 15th of March (has it really been that long ago?) I awoke in the morning with the ring and pinkie fingers of my right hand totally numb and dead to me. That alone isn't so strange; once in a great while I sleep with one of my arms under me and that's how my hands feel when I do - no sensation and they seem to be about four times their regular size - like your jaw after a dental visit. Within a fewminutes, circulation resumes and the affected body part starts to tingle and give the impression of being swarmed by ants. Then it all fades into a memory. This time, though, the numby-tingly phase didn't go away.
After half an hour, I panicked. Like a surgeon, my fingers are my livelihood and without them, I'm pretty useless. They weren't getting better and I didn't know what might be wrong. I remembered something about the heart - which hand would that be? - and images of nerve damage flew through my head (there are definite disadvantages to being a writer).
Still, I had obligations and my doctor doesn't open until 9am. I wasn't in pain and I could bend the fingers, so I went to work.
I did my necessary morning tasks (made a lot of typos!), then notified my team that I was visiting my doctor and hoped to be back soon. I was at my doctor's office when he opened. Filling out the forms was interesting. Waiting to be seen was agonizing. Visiting with my doctor was shocking.
"Worker's comp," he said, and called for a nurse to come give me more forms. I started to cry. Odd, isn't it? Thinking it might be my heart, I was dry-eyed. Being worried because it wasn't going away, I was dry-eyed. But mention WC and I became a basket-case.
It isn't that I'm indispensable at work. (If you can't be replaced, you can't be promoted.) But . . . one of our team had walked off the job within the week and a second had given notice. My backup had been pulled to cover the loss and train with the one leaving, so my area had no one else to run it. Add in that a major replacement project is underway, and the thought of being pulled off work by a Worker's Comp doctor terrified me more than whatever was wrong with my fingers.
I guess I have an inflated sense of duty. Good thing I never went into the military.
To skip all the icky details, my doctor sent me to the Worker's Comp doctor and that one poked, prodded, and recommended Ibuprofen. He couldn't pinpoint my issue but thought it was either a nerve issue in my right wrist or the tendon there was inflamed, making the nerve
*think* it had an issue. He hoped it would go away and asked me if it interfered with my job. His expression said I could be off work if I wanted to.
But I didn't. I said no, I just made a lot of typos, and he released me to work but I needed to return in a week. Put heat on it, he said, and stay off the computer as much as possible. He also suggested an ergonomic evaluation at work.
The numbness faded daily and the tingle finally went away on Sunday, March 18. Three days of that feeling has made me really appreciate my hands. Monday I went back to the WC doctor, who again poked, prodded, and said come back in a week. Useless guy, if you ask me.
I had my ergo eval last Monday and will need to change my desk setup. I'm waiting for the equipment to show up - keyboard tray and trackball - before I rearrange anything, and then I will try to match the setup at home. Until then, I'm staying off the computer more and sometimes
wearing a wrist brace in bed to keep my right arm from being pinned under me at night. (So now you know why this reads like a Reader's Digest version; I'm trying not to type so much!)
"You know," said Harry, "Toyota is right next door. Maybe we should go there first."
Why not? We're actually Toyota people. If you remember, we ended up with a Hybrid Honda because the Prius is just so ugly to me. Now, lots
of models come in Hybrid versions.
We ran the Toyota salesman through the wringer, but really I wasn't asking for much. Why is it those people never listen?
My list was short:
* Pay off the Honda
* Keep my payments the same
* Hybrid model
* GPS (map/location guidance)
* XM radio
The car he let us drive had those, plus:
* Mag wheels
* Leather seats
* Backup camera
* Sun roof
* Power seats
* Keyless lock/unlock/driving system
Nice car. I'm sure it had stuff I've forgotten or didn't know about. We gathered in the inner sanctum to review paperwork and they came up with the first offer:
* Miss payoff of Honda by $1500
* Payments of more than double what I was paying for the Honda
I almost laughed at him. When he went away and came back, the result wasn't much better. I think he tried three or four times and finally I told him I needed my papers back so we could go next door to Honda. Obviously Toyota couldn't meet what I needed.
Once he saw I was serious about leaving, he changed tactics. The manager came out with a better deal on the car, but still couldn't bring those payments down to what I had for the Honda. Best case was still more than $100 more per month.
Then we told them we didn't really *want* all those bells and whistles- we don't like leather seats and we don't care about mag wheels and I never use a sunroof anyway. So then we got to look at the Toyota color book, choose a color and list what we really wanted. To the above "first" list, we added the backup camera and power seats, two things near and dear to Harry.
They found us a car in the Bay Area that matched our needs, and the price was lower than the souped up demo model, which also already had 3,000 miles on it. After fiddling with the numbers again, we got what we wanted. The Honda has been paid off (I hope) and my payments went up about $7 per month, but I'm now driving a new Toyota Camry Hybrid. (It took them two days to bring it over from the Bay Area.)
I'm a Camry fan from way back and I *love* this car. I think I'll get better mileage in it than I did with the Honda, since my driving is mostly in the city.
The color is Cypress Pearl and it's not quite grey and not quite green. I finally have a car where I could rob a bank and the witnesses would say "It was grey." "It was green." "It was grey." "It was
*definitely* green!" I've wanted something like that ever since I saw a BMW that was a grey-blue.
In any pictures it always looks grey.
I was able to show off the car to a few people at work last week. "Man," said my co-worker, who had seen the recent Drivels about a new motorcycle and a new big rig, "I wish I could buy a new car like I buy groceries."
Well, actually, I get my groceries delivered.
The Desk Drawer writer's exercise
Ending With a Smile