As usual. After my tirade of yesterday, I logged on today with the assumption that you'd all think I'd lost my marbles and, while I'm not going to surmise about the possible locations of said marbles OR your personal opinions about those marbles, I was delighted to find such warm, funny, loving support. Monica, I would have loved you forever anyway, but that phrase "not competent to serve as the Batshit village idiot" would have done the trick if that were not the case. I laughed until I rolled. Marianne, I would happily take you up on your offer of folks with pointy sticks to accompany to the village idiot's office, and I think Charity has a point. Between us all, I bet we can make a wonderful Batshit Village Yarn Shop! Dana, you raging alcoholic you--this is why you take knitting to doctor's offices. You might find those pointy sticks useful! I had a urologist once (irritated bladder--nothing whatever to do with my kidneys) who insisted on dialating my urethra once a week while patronizingly uttering the phrase "Yes, I know it's a bit uncomfortable." Uncomfortable? I think I can be forgiven for my fevent wish, then and now, to have been able to grab him by the soft dangly bits and squeeze firmly while assuring him that the searing pain he thinks he's feeling is just his imagination, and it's just "uncomfortable".
ANYWAY, the update is that the Dr. Batshit has still not called me (she was supposed to do it yesterday) and I think we're done here. I'm going to hightail it back to the doc I used to have (switched because it was closer to home, and because I've always wanted a chauffered drive to Batshit) and show her the results. If that doesn't work, perhaps we can all take Dana on booze-up and then drive to Batshit for a yarn crawl.
I spotted this cartoon today, and thought that it was a good thing the subjects didn't go to my soon-to-be-former doctor, or they'd probably still be having biopsies and MRI's and some bloodwork just in case:
I do knit somewhat faster when pissed off, so I have this to show you:
The back of the alpaca cardi. Thankfully, it's on large needles, or it would probably be the size of a postage stamp, due to the fact that pissed-offedness also impairs my gauge, just a tad. You'll note that Gracie approves of the cardi thus far...but wonders if I wouldn't just leave those ends hanging (the better to eat them and barf on the rug--every day is improved so much by the addition of wooly barf, isn't it?).
Being that it has been wet and nasty here for so long that I have had to begun bathing in Rustoleum, I was unreasonably delighted by the sudden gift of an 83 DEGREE DAY!! Check it out:
Green Stuff! And sunlight!
And even cherry blossoms! (Sorry...we Northwesterners get quite excited by the arrival in town of the big yellow ball of fire. It's a fickle beast, so we try to get down on our knees and praise it when it shows up, in the hopes of flattering it into staying. It never works. We keep trying.)
I think I mentioned that I've been trying to eat better recently, so I shouldn't have been surprised to find this note, scrawled desperately in the handwriting of my inner child:
April 6, 2007
It has been three days since my outer adult began a cruel experiment involving fresh vegetables, fruits, and low fat proteins. I have tried to find out what information I might offer her that would lead to the release of the chocolate eggs; to no avail. I think it unlikely that I will come out of this alive. I'm deeply concerned about her sudden obsession today with all the green in the back yard, as I fear I will be required to eat it.
p.s. Have been offered yogurt or applesauce as supposed substitute for chocolate. Am beginning to fear for both her sanity, and my own.