About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

I am home, and I am safe.

No Critical Decisions Today. And no Mobic for a week. Those are my marching orders. LittleBit very kindly picked up a Twix for me last night, and I’ve inhaled three-fourths of it already. Leslye and I went to Jack in the Box for breakfast, and I’ve had a Breakfast Jack, hash brown sticks, and orange juice that tore up my throat like crazy but was so worth it. I am on my first mug of milk, and there’s still room at the inn, Mary.

LittleBit is picking up a $5 pizza for me from Little Caesar, before she goes to school. [TAKS tests today; she doesn’t have to be there until noon.]

So the next decision is: a two-hour nap, or one that lasts all afternoon?

I am going to have to pick out a couple of rows on Middlest’s French Sock, as I made a spectacularly silly mistake while communing with the porcelain diety last night. That can wait until after my nap.

They found/didn’t find polyps [only one; I don’t have to go back for five years, woohoo!], the map to the lost treasure of the Incas/keys to Sean Connery’s heart, and the answer to the musical question, What is the sound of one hand clapping?

I did/did not swear like a sailor while under anesthesia. Leslye, the friend who drove me there and home, is disappointed/still giggling.

My anesthesiologist was a nice middle-aged man with silver hair and a neatly trimmed beard. I would have drooled, except that I hadn’t had anything to drink since before midnight. Ergo, no spit.

How hungry was I? So hungry that this made me hungrier! I kept wondering what they’d put on the window to keep him that busy. Yeah, I’m not a dog person; I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not. And you’ll note that I automatically assumed it was a male dog. Remind me to get my consciousness lifted, once I re-establish the correct chocolate/oxygen mix in my own personal carburetor.

But first, I am rounding up volunteers for the Tush Kazoo band. I do believe that I will master The Flight of the Bumblebee before I get rid of all the air they pumped into me. [Yeah, I
’m still a little loopy; why do you ask?]

And oh, by the way, the Book of Mormon is still true.

7 comments:

Tan said...

Glad you survived The Big Dig.

Lynn said...

I would guffaw, but my throat is still parched. I would really like to teleport myself to the scale at work, and back home before anybody saw me in my Tweetie jammies. My ankles are trim as a girl's!

Bonnie said...

I am glad that you are home, and safe, and just as lucid as ever. -was that a dig?...maybe- :)

Julie said...

I am also glad that you are home and safe. (And able to enjoy some food.)

Rorek said...

I'm very glad that you made it home safely. *big hugs* I love you Mom!

Jenni said...

You are so weird. Many questions explained now.

Lynn said...

Just remember, dear, insanity is hereditary: you get it from your children!