When the going gets tough

The tough get up from their desks, ransack their food cubby, and walk to the break room to make a S’more. Microwave S’mores are S’mores in the same sense that near beer is beer. [Mark Twain is reputed to have said, “The man who named it near beer was a poor judge of distance.” But I digress.]

Note to Middlest: actually, I was not in a bookstore. I was also not in the alternative location for the knitting group that you know and love. I have defected to an alternative, alternative location, with an alternative knitting group consisting of some of the members of the former group.

So I could not have thrown a thesaurus at the miscreant. Not mine, nor one of the store’s. I could, however, have chucked an iced coffee belonging to one of my friends’ at him, but she might very well have objected to that as “roughing the coffee” and thrown a flag on the play.

Note to Alison: yes, there was more than garden-variety indignation that went into my experience on Tuesday night. It was as if all the frustration I feel at the new guy’s situation, and my own while waiting on the outcome, got funneled into it.

I am quicker to laugh, quicker to cry, quicker to speak, quicker to become angry, and quicker to tire. I have zero patience, although I hope I hide that fairly well. Indecision, not following through on a commitment [hello, legal secretary at opposing counsel who promised to email me discovery in Word format, are you listening?], rapid changes of plan all disorient me.

I am trying to be sensible about bedtime. I am trying to eat intelligently. I got a half-hour chair massage at work the other day, which took me from PretzelWoman to MerelyVeryTense. She will be back next week; I will be back for more.

When I had that other massage a couple of weeks ago, I asked her if what I was feeling in my joints was early arthritis. She said no, it is all muscular tension. Which is relatively good news.

I will take relatively good news.

The new guy talked with his cancer people yesterday. The port goes in on the 18th. The chemo goes in on the 19th. His treatment will be slightly to somewhat complicated because of other medication he takes on a regular basis.

And I have a wickedly funny blog post title to throw at you sometime in the future.

Good stuff planned for this weekend: dinner with Brother Sushi tonight, possibly a doll meet-up tomorrow afternoon [remind me to call Fourthborn to see if she wants to go], game night at a friend’s house tomorrow night as another option [no, I still don’t like games, but I love that friend, and we have great mutual friends, and I think I might need to be around them] and my short people at church on Sunday and hibernation for two to seven hours immediately afterward.

There are chocolate chip cookies in my fridge (one less than when I awoke this morning) and the makings for more S’mores in my cubby at work. I have seven six minutes to shower and foof and be out the door if I don’t want to deal with crazy traffic. I had better stir my stumps.