In what I thought was a scathingly brilliant moment, I left a message for my doctor’s nurse, about my foot. Would taking it to the pool at my health club help it to get well faster? And would mummifying it in a swim shoe keep the other swimmers safe from the fungus-amongus?
Shortly after I returned to my desk from lunch, my phone rang.
“Doctor wants to see that foot. Can you be here at 2:00 tomorrow?” I checked my attorneys’ calendars for this afternoon. They will all be safely out of pocket. Sure, why not.
So I will be exiting, stage left, a little before I would normally take my lunch. It will be interesting to hear what she has to say about the state of my foot. Maybe it’s not athlete’s foot. Maybe it’s psoriasis, or leprosy, or hoof and mouth, or termites! Maybe the cure involves getting a chair massage every other Friday while Sean Connery feeds me raspberries and dark chocolate.
(A girl can hope.)
I am loving the new book. For a tome on archaeology, it is remarkably un-tome-ish. [There's no place like tome, Dorothy. All roads lead to Tome. Tome, tome, I’m deranged? In Xanadu did Kublai Khan a stately pleasure tome decree...]
So I went to bed at a sensible hour last night and woke up at 3:00. My alarm, the one I set so that I can get up and go to the gym, goes off in 15 minutes. I have drunk something like a quart of water since I woke up (the natural result of having eaten at Taco Cabana last night, to celebrate that it was wildly remodeled and not simply closed down).
We had fog yesterday. When I went out to the health club, for the first half of the drive you couldn’t see your hand behind your back, as Mom would have said. Trainman drove through more of it from his house until he got to Fort Worth proper, and by the time he got to the parking lot at the station, it was gone. (The fog, not the station.) It was patchy along the rails on the ride into work.
This has certainly been the spring for weird weather. Crazy-breezy last Sunday; the trees spent much of the day dancing in the wind, and I wanted to dance with them. Normally by the first of May I have been running the AC for a month. Not, thankfully, this year.
Time to put on my big girl yoga pants and my sneaks and get ready to head out the door. I suspect this day is going to be filled with adventure and surprises.
- 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!