Prepoceros

It’s over. By my count, I wrote 22 posts during the 30 days of November, which I’ll call respectable, considering. I missed a shot at perfection right off the bat when I spent the first evening of November in the emergency room, and the drawn-out sickity-sick through the rest of the month made even near-perfection tough to attain.

But what’s done is done, and I’m not bothered by my missing the mark this year. NaBloPoMo got me out of the blogging slump I’d been in, and that was what I’d most hoped for.

There was once an afternoon when I mused idly that I might like to try making a video every day in December, but John quickly talked me out of that one, thank goodness. Success at such a project would likely be much, much worse than failure.

So long, NaBlo! See you next year! Thanks for the hostess gifts; they’re lovely.

My whole family is going on a ten-day ski vacation over New Year’s, and of course we can’t bring Samson. I don’t know anyone who could take care of him that whole time, so I’ve been looking into kennels nearby.

One of my mom’s friends recommended a place near our house that her dogs LOVE, so I dropped Sam off there on Monday for a two-night trial run. Oh, it was sad. He was excited when we got out of the car, run run sniff pee sniff pee, but about thirty seconds after we walked in the door, his whole body started quivering. We weren’t doing anything exciting, just standing at the counter filling out forms—I figure the kennel might have smelled like the shelter I got him from, and it freaked him out.

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It was supposed to be for his birthday back in October, but he didn’t get around to picking one out until yesterday. It’s actually really nice—a Canon Elph something something. Small but powerful.

Here Sam takes in a Sunday afternoon football game with his grandpa, in whose lap he is often found.

One of these days I will feel neither nauseated nor dizzy, and that will be a very good day.

Yeah, I missed another couple days of NaBloPoMo, but I was sickity-sick-sick. Still. Again. I’m on some different medications now, but it’s the same sick. For the last few days I’ve been on antibiotics for a urinary tract infection (great timing, body, thanks), and I think they might have triggered this most recent bout of continuous nausea and off-and-on fuzzyheadedness, but I can’t be sure.

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Me: This chicken tastes different. What’s in it?
Mom: Pork.

Ready for more? Part I is here. Once again, all grammar, spelling, and (especially) punctuation decisions are my 10-year-old self’s.

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The crumminess I was feeling the night before last eventually got much worse. John came over, which kept me calmer than I would’ve been, but I (we) still had a pretty shitty night.

Yesterday I went back to my doctor, and she checked me out and told me that the cause of my misery was almost certainly stress. So I’m doing it to myself, in a sense, which is good because it’s fixable, but bad because it’s up to me to fix it. The good FAR outweighs the bad.

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I meant to write a post yesterday, of course, but I went out to a play yesterday with John and my mom, and the play ran long, and we got back late, and I forgot. So it goes.

And now I’ve put this one off so long that I didn’t write one today (yesterday, technically) either. Blah, whatevs. I feel crummy again tonight, and I already missed the first day of November to visit the ER, so I wasn’t in the running for the prizes anyway.

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Today I finally got some decent exercise for the first time since my surgery: John and I played racquetball.

Now I’ve played plenty of tennis, so I thought I was prepared for this, but hoo boy, the two sports are not the same. Tennis, for instance, requires good hand-eye coordination—the ball is coming toward you, and you have to figure out where to place yourself and your racquet so that you strike the ball in the middle of the racquet with your arm in a strong position. Racquetball, on the other hand, requires good BODY-eye coordination—the ball is going somewhere, not necessarily toward you, and it can change direction in a split second. Think of it as an analogy: ping-pong is to tennis as tennis is to racquetball.

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The headaches, the cramps . . . in one’s patience, er, muscle, the near-hemorrhaging . . . of money. Okay, so the metaphor is pretty warped to begin with. That’s what happens when you start with the title and try to make the first line match. I don’t recommend it.

The point is, my registration window for next semester opened at 1:30 this afternoon. Most of the classes I need at this point are upper-division and won’t fill up anyway, but after all the crap I’ve been through with registration at this school, I’d rather get everything nailed down as soon as I can.

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