You know those days when before you';re barely awake you can tell things aren't going to go well?
This is apparently one of mine. last November when my adoptive father died i sat my brother down and gave him a list of what needed to be done. Insurance companies to contact, brokers to notify, property to liquidate, etc.
Yesterday I got a letter from an insurance company asking me to call them regarding Dad's estate. (sigh)
Today I called first thing. My diligence was rewarded with a snippy bitchy woman on the other line who apparently had to write everything down as opposed to using a computer. She asked "What was your relation to Mr. H****?" "He was my father, I said." "So, you're his son?"
"Yes, it stands to reason that if he was my father, I was his son." We stopped getting along after that.
I referred her to the attorneys handling the estate.
Then my excessive sense of duty took over and prompted me to send the letter to the executor. I am fully prepared at this time to throw my printer out the fucking window.
Had I the choice I'd cancel the damn day and go back to bed. I do not feel like playing well with others today.
And so it goes: