Five Gripes

It's like Fiorella keeps trying to push foreward and everything around her is pushing back, like the red page that has flared up on her Mac screen which she can't get rid of because she doesn't know Apple's version of control-alt-delete.
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And like getting yet another email fom stupid Ameritrade saying she hadn't filled out out the information form to transfer ownership of Husband's stocks to her when she'd already done it TWICE. After a tense conversation with two of A's trouble-shooters, she was told all was well, the stocks had sold, and they would mail her the check as soon as she sent them a  specifically-worded letter and a photo of her driver's license. Fio dutifully took a picture of her license with her cell phone, then realized she had no idea how to print it out. And Son and his wife were on the road home.
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 Also, Fio's left upper arm is swollen a little from the shingles shot she had a week ago. The literature said that might happen, but this is the first time yours truly has ever had a reaction from a shot.
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Fio hopes the message she posted last night in her continuing crusade again Trump's imprisonment of The Children will move her readers as much as it does her: Why do I write about The Children every day? Because I'm remembering The Children who were gassed and burned at Auschwitz.
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Pray for Fiorella. She's discovered that the drive-in grocery where she fills up her gas tanks carries Moonpies, and if you don't know what they are and are trying to lose weight, don't ask.