Why am I starting my unusual Friday posting with the definition of dyspepsia, including both its common usages? Because, at present, I am suffering both iterations of its definition. I am both in an ill humor and suffering from indigestion.
Indigestion: I ate the lobster bisque from the first floor restaurant, for lunch today. Despite the ingratiating smile and handshake of the dapper Andy-Garcia-esque owner, his heartfelt handshake, and the warmed bread and butter he included with the soup, it failed to sit well in my stomach. For that reason, I am not at Happy Hour, as befits a young woman of my social position, but am in bed, cursing the crustaceans in the roiling seas of my stomach.
Ill humor: I realized today that the apartment locator service has never sent me my $200 check for using its services. Harrumph. We'll see about that. I just sent out an email to my agent, requesting that she let me know what is going on, seeing as I have yet to receive my reward. If I'm not either paid within 30 days, or they cannot otherwise prove to me that I have received the check and cashed it (which they will have to do with a cancelled check, because I'm not going to accept their word), then the state Attorney General will be hearing of this matter.
I'm not in any great hurt for money - despite the beautiful coat that arrived with the UPS delivery today (it was on sale) - but it would be nice to contribute that little bit of cash to my brand-spanking new Roth IRA.
Earlier in the week, I sold some of my stock, fearing - from what I'd been reading in The Economist and Motley Fool - that the EU would refuse to allow it to merge with another company because of some bogus interpretations of anti-trust law.
Turns out, the EU has approved the merger - today! - but only after I sold my stock.
The proceeds from the sale - I made a rather tidy little profit, all things considered - were dumped into my R-IRA, today and put to some good use (I hope). I'm a bit frustrated with myself that I didn't do this as soon as I was laid off, but I was too busy going into an emotional shut-down and curling up into a metaphorical - andoccasionally literal - fetal position.
In another note, I think I need to cut back on the use of dashes as parenthetical indicators. They - as with parentheses - can become addictive if one over-indulges.