Behaving My Way To Happiness

I feel absolutely ill this morning, and hence, this may be the day for me to give the surgeon a call. The Infectious Disease PA thinks I have already done this... but I've been too afraid. Stupid? Sure. But that's my stupid reality! My best option may be to email his nurse and lay it out for her, see if it's okay to wait until June 9.



Dick Cheney going "head-to-head" with Obama in dueling speeches on the "war" on terror? There are so many things that are just plain wrong with this scenario -- I don't even want to get started. Cheney appears delusional to me. Specifically in terms of "grandeur."



Guantanamo -- I support Obama's plan to close the effing place down, but I understand the Congress' response that a clear end game needs to be posited first. Do I think that is really the problem with passing the bill clearing the needed bucks for the much overdue eviction? No. It seems to be a case of "not-in-my-backyard." As in: the remaining prisoners need housing but them raghead terrorists aren't gonna live in my state, no sir. Earlier, as in last week, Dems were upset that Obama intended to continue using the military judicial system in some of the more clearly hardcore cases. Too harsh, too much a continuation of failed policy. That's a heck of a disconnect.



"Disconnect." One of the newly bandied-about terms we've all come to love. The old switcheroo from verb to noun that hip English-speakers love to effect.



My Infectious Disease Dood presented my case to a group of ID doctors last night. I fully expect to arrive at his office, my second home, and find a cure a-waiting. Something like a shot of Cure-All in the booty to resolve all ills.



But Madame! Were you not just recently at the Infectious Disease Dood's place? Why are you going back for the third time in a freaking week?



Because the Uber They phoned yesterday to say that my labs from Monday are all wacky and they desire more blood.



After I donate, we are going to pick up the brave and singular Uncle Kitty Big Balls, who ended up having major surgery yesterday, losing not just a "toe," but also about half of the associated metatarsal. Puss, diseased bone... apparently, he's quite the little copy cat.



I don't regret spending money to help my animals regain their health, but in the space of two weeks, this wee one has incurred a small fortune in vet bills. We didn't even ask how much this latest surgery will be. Oh, and she found yet another abscess on one of his back legs. It is clear that The Fredster took his infected self in just in the nick of time.



Drew Peterson. No celebrity would be the best response -- no Dr. Phil Chase for Ratings -- no Entertainment Tonight. Just put the man under the jail... forever.



Well, I have to wake up my beloved chauffeur in a few minutes, and I'd best use that time to wash up, get dressed, make him some café and whole wheat toast. The toast is a compromise. While I was in the hospital, he started an awful trend in breakfast food -- two bologna sandwiches. I was shocked to even find that stuff in my fridge. I am not sure what he was putting on the bread, either -- I suspect mayonnaise. Ugh. {waves of nausea}



Ah, it is 8:36 am and my temp is already 99.9. MwaHaHa! Oh, God, what to do when vancomycin doesn't work?



Okay, shaking it off. Behaving my way to happiness. Be the change I wish so to see. Later, Doods and Dudettes.



Oh... please enjoy this latest photo that I have pilfered from one of TW's blogs. He is a canyon man, a lovely man, and sometimes a sister just needs a brother. What drew me were the tonal qualities. It fairly hums.




TW captions the series of images which includes this one with:

I am
fated
to journey
hand in hand
with my
strange heroes
and to survey
the surging
immensity
of life,
to survey it
through
the laughter
that all
can see
and through
the tears
unseen
and unknown
by anyone.
--Nikolai Gogol
(1809--1852)