Weep. Weep for Me.

I think I got a little cocky. It's December 21st and since it's a mere few days before Christmas I think I got a little cocky. Let down my guard. Started feeling invincible and it caught up with me.

Late this afternoon I was changing B's shirt. We were listening to the music channels on our digital TV service, specifically to the Christmas music channel - all Christmas music for all of December. All I wanted to do was change B's shirt, a process I can do in sixty or seventy seconds, and then I was going to change the TV to watch the evening news. There I was, up to my elbows in husband, completely vulnerable and helpless to defend myself when it happened.

I heard the opening notes of Last Christmas.

What could I do? Throw down my husband? Leave him half strangled in a tee-shirt while I dove for the remote control? It wouldn't have done any good anyway. As spry as I may be, I had no chance to ward off the whiney, breathy voice of George Michael pissing and moaning about his old love who dumped him and who wouldn't, George?

I was so close. So, so close. Up until then I had been freely walking through the Christmas market, untouched by Wham! In and out of the mall and department store and grocery stores, completely Wham! free. I was nearly to the Christmas season finish line when I was assaulted. Assaulted in my own home. Wham! waited until I was helping a handicapped man - caring for my quadriplegic husband - to sneak in and catch me.

Shame on you, Wham! Shame on you.

Gray Day

B's not feeling well again. I hate it for him because when he's feeling awful there's not a lot I can do to relieve it.

It all just serves to remind me that he's disabled and his physiology is quite different than an able bodied person. The muscles in his body are slack and weak and don't respond like they should. He's going to age faster than if he were able bodied and while most of the time I don't dwell on it, I still think of it and it makes me sad.

I try not to think too far ahead and borrow trouble but I know that reality is going to begin snapping at our heels one day.

Tomorrow will be better.

Tortured

I had stuff I wanted to write about but it's been ruined because right now only one thing is on my mind. Tonight for supper I had shrimp with garlic and herbs and now my whole flat stinks of garlic. I've got the windows open, I've sprayed air freshener around, I've washed everything in the kitchen - it still stinks. Reeks. It's as if my entire flat has been steeped in garlic. So garlic stinky that I can't even think about anything else save how freaky ass garlicky everything smells. So bad that the fictional vampire books on my shelves are beating on the door to escape. I just know I'll never get any sleep because I'll be terrorized by the stench of garlic all night.

Shit. Now we're going to have to move or else be haunted forever by torturous garlicky shrimp.

How Bad Can It Get?

Summer is the time we normally get B outside at lot but this summer, so far, has been a bust. There have been a few factors preventing us from getting him outside but the biggest reason is because Gerd, my MIL's gentleman friend and the one I rely on to help me lift B in and out of his wheelchair, has been unable to help me.

Seven or eight weeks ago Gerd started to be bothered by pain in his jaw. Three weeks ago he finally broke down and went to his dentist who said he had a big infection in his lower jaw and the dentist referred Gerd to a jaw surgeon (in Germany a jaw surgeon is like a cross between an oral surgeon and a orthodonsit) who saw him right away and took a lot of x-rays and whatnot. Gerd takes blood thinner so the surgeon told him to come back the next Friday to have the infection drained.

Gerd gets the infection drained and the incision was sutured but wasn't given any anti-biotics. That right there made me think something was wrong. The pain was better for a day or two but then it came back. The surgeon wanted to see Gerd again the following Friday for a follow-up. That also sounded bad to me. By Monday Gerd couldn't stand the pain and went back to the surgeon who proceeded to say it was the sutures that were not agreeing with him so they were removed and Gerd was sent home.

The pain only got worse - so bad that Gerd could only walk a couple hundred yards from home before he'd have to sit down. The only time the pain would subside is if he stayed absolutely still. Gerd went back to the surgeon the following Friday and was still given no medications. Sometimes Gerd would have a day where the pain wouldn't nearly bring him to his knees but otherwise it only got worse.

The follow Monday - Monday of last week - both the jaw surgeon and his dentist was gone on vacation so Gerd went to his family doctor. She gave him an anti-biotic (finally! I mean who doesn't immediately treat an infection with an anti-biotic?) and some pain medication but he still had no real improvement. The pain would be so bad that Gerd could feel it down to his stomach. This past Friday Gerd went back to his family doctor who gave him another round of anti-biotics and to him to come back today if things were still bad.

It was still bad today. The family doctor gave up and said for him to try his dentist because it was something a jaw surgeon was going to have to take care of but it's the dentist who has to make the referral to the surgeon. And as luck would have it his dentist was still on vacation but at least one angel was smiling on him because another dentist who works in the same practice agreed to make the referral and they even got Gerd an appointment this afternoon at the dental clinic at the university hospital.

And here's the diagnosis and how the first jaw surgeon missed it is beyond me. Gerd has a wisdom tooth that never cut through and it became abcessed - that's what caused the giant-pus-swelling-from-hell. But over time it not only was the giant-pus-swelling-from-hell but the abscess and evidently impacted wisdom tooth broke his jaw (!!!) and the infection ate away some of his jaw bone (!!!!!!!). Massive panic and freak out? Time to take the stage!

Now Gerd's got to go to the hospital on Wednesday for some more tests and get off of his medications because on Thursay he'll have to have surgery to remove the tooth, clear out the infection and, I assume, repair his broken and somewhat eaten away jaw. Time in the hospital: at least one week.

Poor Gerd. I know I goof on him and all and he is a little annoying but he's not a bad guy and I really do like him. He's always nice to me and is never stingy with helping me whenever I need it. He scares the living shit out of me when he drives and he can say some stupid stuff but no one deserves the sort of misery he's got going on. And my MIL is absolutely beside herself. She's trying to be all calm about it but we can tell she's very upset and nervous about Gerd having surgery.

And now I feel badly about having goofed on him. Which, I suppose, is a lesson in not goofing on people.

Help Me Decide

I'm sitting here thinking over my day and I just can't decide on what part of it I liked best. There's just so much to choose from!

Your choices:

~ The part where I'd just finished brushing my teeth and I threw up for five minutes afterwards. That really good kind you do when you've haven't as yet eaten anything.

~ The part where stopped for a red light and a man who I estimate was somewhere between 70 and 70,000 years old came within a hair's breadth of rear-ending me and in the process scared me out of my mind.

~ Then there's the part where I spent the afternoon with my stomach tied in knots. Evidently I've picked up some tummy virus.

~ There's the part where I fell asleep while sitting on the sofa and woke up with a crick in my neck and a pounding headache.

~ And what may be my personal favorite - going to the gynecologist and having her pinch me. Three times. You're not getting any more details than that but I know my female readers winced when they read that.

Here's the real best part. I know tomorrow will definitely be an improvement over today.

...and then it's gone.

I think anyone who knows me, even from here, knows that I tend to stick to a routine. It simply works out better since I'm responsible for B's care. If I do certain things every day then what really needs to be done gets done.

For the last eight-and-a-half years one of my daily routines has been to participate on an Internet bulletin board. It's through the website for the author, Rebecca Wells, and it's called Gumbo Ya-Ya, or just Gumbo for short. I joined it just over two weeks after B and I were married and with the exception of when I was traveling or when I was hospitalized I was there virtually every single day.

When I joined I never intended to stay around for this long. I figured that once the novelty wore off I'd move along to the next thing to catch my interest. I never imagined that I would find there some of the most wonderful friends I've ever had.

Back when I joined it was a fairly small board. It moved rather slowly and a day's worth of new threads could be contained on one page. New members joined with regularity and I loved that people from all over the US joined as well as people from Canada, England, Australia, New Zealand and one lone American lady living in Germany. Pretty soon I went from being a newbie to a long-timer and over the years our ranks grew, especially after the premiere of film The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood.

The Gumbo board, over the years, became a big part of my social structure. I live a life that can be isolating - I have to stay home most of the time and I live in a foreign country - so socializing with the other members of the board became important to me. They became my social connection and people I could share my life with. It didn't matter that most of them lived nearly halfway around the world - they're my friends. They know me and I know them. I don't feel lonesome knowing that my Gumbo friends are out there. Most are women but we have a few fellas there that put up with us and add something special to our ranks.

I wish I could describe to y'all how strong and true the friendships that are made on Gumbo really are. I know they've been there for me when I needed them. When I was sick and needed surgery, they never forgot me and knowing they were praying for me eased my heart. When I needed advice they were glad to tell me what I needed to know. And three times when I came to America to visit, my friends from Gumbo traveled hundreds, in some cases thousands, of miles to see me because it was important for them to give me a real hug after years of cyber ones.

Over the years real life happened on Gumbo. Some of us married, some divorced. Babies were born and family died. We graduated from high school and college and our kids did the same. We moved, we got fired from jobs and we got new ones. We got sick, we got well, and many times our spirits healed as well as our bodies. We talked about what we loved, what we hated, what we were afraid of and what we couldn't wait to do. We talked about movies, books, music, hot-looking actors, what's for dinner, what's a good diet, our hobbies, our favorite pie, politics, and current events. We supported one another when one was feeling lost and we prayed when we needed some guidance. We laughed at the goofy pranks we'd play and if some troll would show up and harass us and tell us to get a life we'd answer that we did have a life. This was life. Everything that could be found in a life was right there on Gumbo.

Unfortunately living also means eventually dying and it happened on Gumbo too. We lost some members over the years - some through illness, some through accident - and our hearts broke every time. We'd feel the loss to our core and we'd do our best to keep the memories of those we lost alive.

Gumbo is dying as well. We were told by Harper Collins publishing that it would no longer be included on Rebecca's website as of April 21, 2008 and now there are a lot of heartbroken women and men. Now everything is changing. No longer will my comfortable Gumbo home will be there. The place where everyone knew me and I could count on these people to be a part of my world. It's going to be gone.

We're trying to set up other bulletin boards so we don't lose touch with one another but it's not going to be the same. The same structure, the same dynamics, the same niches we had will be gone. It's like high school. You spend years and years with the same people and then suddenly it's graduation day. You promise to keep in touch but you know that you won't in every single case. You'll see some again at your new stop in life but there are others you'll never see again and you'll regret not having spent more time with them.

I won't have trouble keeping in touch with those who I'm already close with and I'll admit that there are some I won't miss seeing but what makes me sad is the loss of what was possible. I'm losing the possibility to get closer to some and I'm losing the possibility of meeting new folks. Folks that I could grow to love as much as those I already do. There will be stories left unfinished for me. How's her pregnancy going to go? Is she going to find a new job? And her - will she find love again? Is she going to graduate from college and start her dream career? Will her illness be cured? I want to know the next chapter of the story but now it seems that it won't be written - or what does get written will always somehow be incomplete.

I wish somehow someone would find the magic wand that could be waved to stop all this. We just want to go on with the Gumbo life we've created. And it hurts to think that corporate decisions made by those who don't know about us is going to end a life that was real and vibrant and good.

Hyphenated Theft

When the phone rings around here it's seldom for me. Friends and family call but generally it's during the evening here. When the phone rings in the early afternoon you can bet it's not for me. And when it's our banker calling in the early afternoon it's guaranteed he's not looking to talk to me.

I thought so, anyway.

Our credit card is in my name. It's one of those that's not actually connected to a line of credit. Once a month the total of all my charges bills and the amount of the bill is automatically debited from our Girokonto (what would be thought of as a checking account in the US, except we don't have checks). I don't use it very often - mostly for online purchases when the purchase can't be done through a bill or a direct debit from the Girokonto, which usually means when I buy things from vendors outside of Germany. So when our personal banker, Herr B, called asking for me and then proceeded to blather on about how the company our bank uses to watch out for credit card fraud was suspicious about a charge for 85 (euro) cents, I got a little crap-your-pants-panicky. No, I didn't charge anything for 85 cents from the Such-A-Generic-Business-Name-That-It-Actually-Sounds-Fishy Company in Pearl City, USA. No, I've never heard of that company. Yes, oh hell yes, I want you to tell the Watching-Out-For-Credit-Card-Fraud company to deny any future charges coming from the SAGBNTIASF Company in Pearl City, USA.

I hung up the phone less panicky and very pleased with my bank for not only looking out for my credit card but for calling me to ask me about something that looked suspicious. It was pretty obvious that someone had lifted my credit card number from somewhere and put through a test charge of $1 which would amount to about 85 euro cents to see if it would be paid so that later they could put through an great big charge and they were foiled. All was right again in my plastic card and online shopping world.

And then on Saturday a letter arrived from the Watching-Out-For-Credit-Card-Fraud company telling me that they were not only suspicious of the 85 cent charge but two other charges, one for about 35€ and one for about 53€, both charged last Thursday, both charged within 4 minutes of each other and both to an online casino in the UK. Swell! Some thieving bastard had stolen my credit card number and sold it to goodness-only-knows how many other thieving bastards who have no problem whatsoever with stealing from me and my husband. They're stealing from a handicapped guy! Isn't there some special wobbly, splinter laden, three-legged stool in Hell for those who steal from a handicapped guy?

By now not only was I about sick to my stomach but I thought B was going to have a stroke over this. Mr. I-Can-Account-For-Every-Cent-We-Have. The credit card fraud company had denied all the charges so at least I knew our bank account wasn't going to be a hundred clams lighter but I still wasn't feeling comfortable about it all. Neither B nor I were content to wait until Monday to call Herr B at the bank to deal with this for us so we called the credit card fraud company. The very pleasant young lady having to spend her Saturday afternoon cooped up at work trying to deal with cranky, panicky customers who were likewise being ripped off assured us that since we didn't know anything about the charges and since it seemed certain that our card number had been stolen she would arrange to cancel that card and have another credit card reissued. I thanked her kindly, wished her a pleasant weekend and resumed breathing again.

So let this be a lesson to you thieving bastard types. Don't try to steal from us. I'm watching out for you. The handicapped guy you're trying to steal from (for shame!) is watching out for you. Herr B at the bank is watching out for you. And the Watching-Out-For-Credit-Card-Fraud company is watching out for you. And there's a special wobbly, splinter laden, three-legged stool in Hell with your name on it if you don't mend your ways.

So there.

In Which I Act Pitiful to Gain Your Sympathy

Did I mention that wearing the 24 hour blood pressure cuff was irksome? And it was! It was if "irksome" is this season's new word for "insanity inducing painful". I'm fairly certain that this device I wore all day and all night yesterday appears on the CIA's list for "enhanced interrogation" methods.

By the time it was midnight, I was about to scream. It had been going off every fifteen minutes but would do it twice per session so eight times an hour I was having the shit squeezed out of my arm. It had switched over to night mode around 9pm but I was still having it go off four times an hour. I was still concerned that I kept getting error readings but later on it got over whatever was throwing it off and began taking proper measurements again - at least it would after one false start.

Sleep wasn't looking like it would be a reality so I stayed up to watch the Republican nominee debates on CNN. I have to say it seems insane for me to have my blood pressure measured while I'm watching politicians say things that make me want to slap their heads off but sometimes they're so ridiculous that it's good for a giggle. I, however, was in no mood for amusement of any sort. By 3:00am my left arm felt terrible. It had good color and it was warm but it was also terribly painful from having it squeezed so hard so many times and my arm from the elbow down was very swollen. At one point when the cuff pumped up it squeezed my arm so hard I thought my fingertips would burst open.

I finally abandoned the dog and pony show Republican debates and made a stab at trying to sleep. Sleeping on my left side was out, sleeping on my stomach was out, sleeping on my back always makes me feel like my boobs are sliding up and threatening to choke off my breathing so that left sleeping on my right side. And it worked. I wasn't sleeping because every half hour I'd have the cuff pump up and start the shooting pains down my arm only to have it happen a second time three minutes later because the first attempt was always in error. But I was at least able to close my eyes and be quiet - that is until I was dying to shift my position and there was no position to where I could shift.

It was at that moment that I developed a whole new appreciation for my husband and what he has to endure. You'd think I would already have a good idea of what the paralyzed endure but having my right arm bound up and unable to move it freely made me realize that B puts up with stuff that would have me become a sniveling baby within ten minutes. I mean just how does B put up with not being able to shift into a more comfortable position? He hates to wake me up unless he really has to so if he's laying funny or his shoulder or ear becomes weary of being laid upon, he just puts up with it. Me? I'm way too much of a crybaby to deal with that sort of thing.

By the time 5:15am rolled around the cuff was back on daytime readings so any rest I may have gotten was again back to being interrupted eight times an hour. I was absolutely miserable laying there with tears in my eyes and couldn't wait until I could get back to the doctor's office. I finally got up at 6:30am, washed my face, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, dressed and was out at the streetcar stop before 7:00. I arrived at the doctor's by 7:20 and waited another half hour before the doctor's assistant removed the devil's plaything from my arm and got the readings off of it.

My doctor, upon inspecting the results, said "Your blood pressure is a catastrophe.". And a good morning to you too, Frau Doctor! But it was. The median reading was 184/118. It even sucked during the night readings but in my defense it's not like I ever slept. What is puzzling the doctor even more is why my blood pressure would shoot up like this in less than a month. When I had seen my doctor on November 8th my blood pressure was its customary 120/80. When I saw my gyn on November 15th my blood pressure was 188/124. She asked me if I had headaches (no) or bouts of dizziness (no) and the only symptom I could report was that my hands and feet had been feeling swollen a little too often.

The doctor ended up giving me some medication to tackle things as they are now - a combination drug to lower my blood pressure, lower my pulse (because it had been running about 95bpm) and to relieve the swelling in my hands and feet. I've taken one pill and just now my blood pressure was 146/98 and my pulse was 72bpm. Much improved except I still have no idea why one week I'd be perfectly normal and the next week my blood pressure would be ringing the bell. I'll be on this medication for a week, see the doctor next Thursday and see where I am at that point.

I don't like the idea of having to take blood pressure medication every day but I like the idea of having a stroke even less. And if it keeps the Cuff of Hell off my arm, I'll comply.

Marathon of Irk

I'm more than halfway through my twenty-four hours of having my blood pressure taken every fifteen minutes. Unfortunately I believe this contraption hates me and wants to make me miserable.

When I first was hitched up to this gear I was told to be as still as I could while it was doing its thing - you know...don't be waving my arms around or be putting on clothes during it. I heeded the instructions but when the beeper would go off to tell me it was about to get going it would pump up a bit, an error signal would go off and the cuff would deflate and then three or four minutes later it would try again and that time it would work. Nice. That means I get annoyed by this thing twice as often. Then around 6:00pm I had to turn B on his side for his dermatologist to see an healing wound on his leg and ever since then it no longer takes a full measurement - only the pumping up halfway and then an error signal. All I can think is that the cuff isn't making good contact with my pulse point and so it gets an error message.

It's on night mode right now so it only goes off every half hour. I don't know if it's taken enough measurements to be any good to the doctor but every time I looked at what my blood pressure was, it wasn't good. Stuff like 185/120. Yikes.

Brittle as Kindling

Perhaps you recall back to August when B had to go to the dentist. He was nearly out of his mind with fear and I was doing my best to reassure him that things would be fine. There was nothing to be nervous about and novocaine can work wonders. I have had loads of dental work done over the past 30 years - caps, crowns, veneers, fillings, onlays, root canals, impacted wisdom teeth, and so on - and if I, the original scared baby, could handle it, he would do fine.

So someone tell me why I was in a near panic, sweating and trembling, when I had to go today to have an old filling removed and refilled and the corner of a broken tooth built back again. It didn't even hurt - the novocaine injection smarted a bit - burned and all that - but I had tears in my eyes when she was drilling. Maybe I was just anxious because it's been a lot of years since I've had dental work done or it was because my mind was on something else or maybe it's just because my hair has heinous roots and have a fierce need to go get my hair colored but I was as shaky and jittery as a junkie. When I left the dentist office and stood out on the street at the front door of my apartment building to get a breath of air (I live in the same building as my dentist office but it's a separate entrance), my legs were still quivering. Maybe it was the sound. The sound of the drilling and then the sound of her smoothing off the filling is torturous. Amnesty International should be aware of this sound.

I had to come home, lips numb and fat feeling, and have a nap. For two hours. I slept like a hibernating bear. I slept so deeply that when I woke up it was already dark outside and I couldn't figure out what time it was or what day it was and for a moment I wasn't even sure where I was. I thought briefly that I was in my brother's apartment.

And I'm still exhausted. My mouth has unnumbed or thawed or whatever it is you want to call it but I think all the anxiety has whipped my ass.

Take a Raincheck Until Tomorrow?

I know y'all had your mouths set to hear about the second day of my trip (Visit to Sonic! Homecoming parade! My mother being fawned over by the assistant county prosecutor!) but I need to postpone it (As a kid I thought the word was "postphone") until tomorrow. B's pretty sick and I've been trying to keep him going.

Yesterday afternoon we were both taking a nap and B woke up suddenly with a 102 degree fever. He was shaking with the chills but nothing else seemed to be wrong with him. A couple hours later he started to cough and spit up mucus and his nose got slightly stuffy. Of course we suspected a cold but colds don't come on suddenly with a fever and it seemed unlikely that he has the flu since he got a flu shot three weeks ago.

I got his fever down to about 99 degrees before bed but we were still up all night with him coughing and spitting up. He has only a little control of his diaphragm so coughing up anything is very difficult for him and he can choke easily so I had to keep my eye on him until the coughing subsided.

We called the doctor early this morning to tell her what was going on and she came to our apartment late this afternoon. B's ability to control his body temperature is compromised by his spinal cord injury so we always need to try to get a fever under control. After a good going over she said he had a viral infection, prescribed an antibiotic and something for his fever, told him to drink lots and lots and rest and he'd be better in a few days. Right now his fever is up again to 101 degrees but he ate some supper and his coughing has stopped so I think he's improving a little.

Anyway, I've had very little sleep so if you'll let me off the hook until tomorrow before I continue my tale I'd appreciate it. I'll even sweeten the deal and include pictures.

Ugh

I am so sick. Since Sunday - so sick.

I think my intestines are staging a revolt.

Such a Talent for Picking the Most Appropriate Time

You know I'm not one for long range plans but this week I had it all set up to start fall house cleaning. I have the time and I definitely have the need. Hell, I was even sorta looking forward to it.

Instead I'm spending far too much time in the bathroom purging myself of whatever I've just eaten. Mr. Gallbladder Attack seems to be back in town and he evidently wants my undivided attention.

And I can't even get the SOB to pitch in an help me clean the balcony.

Hot 'n Dotty

Lots of goings on, lots of dots. Let's get at it.

• B called Kirsten yesterday. I'm glad he called her then instead of on Tuesday when I had wanted him to. On Tuesday the news would have been that Kirsten's daughter picked her up from therapy and Kirsten collapsed in the car and Freya had to drive her to the hospital to be revived. As it is the news we got yesterday was a bit more encouraging. Kirsten saw another doctor Wednesday morning and he told her that she was very close to be hospitalized and it wouldn't be here in the city - he'd send her to a clinic in Bavaria that specializes in eating disorders. Now that in itself didn't worry Kirsten in the way the next part did. The doctor told her then that if she didn't start to eat immediately, he was sending her to the clinic where he'd have her put on a feeding tube and that the experience would be terrible for her. She didn't say if it would be done surgically directly into her stomach or would be through a tube in her nose but it scared her badly. Maybe he was exaggerating regarding how bad it is to get a feeding tube but who cares? The result was that Kirsten is more terrified of the feeding tube than she is disgusted over food. Her eating disorder has changed from her becoming sick when she eats to her just not being able to swallow food. Food - all food - disgusts her and when she puts it in her mouth she can't swallow it. It's not a matter of her thinking she's too fat in the way most anorexics think - she knows she's too thin - but her mental problems make food seem gross to her. But the idea of a feeding tube grossed her out even more so she went home and at the time we called her Kirsten had eaten a few spoonfuls of vegetables and was about to eat a peach. For supper she was going to eat a tomato. Doesn't sound like much but she's eating something and for that we're grateful. The doctor gave her a list of what she should be eating right now and when and if she sticks to it and gains some weight then she can avoid the feeding tube. We'll be grateful for any improvement. B told Kirsten he wanted her to come over and she said she didn't want to right now - she's too embarrassed for B to see her. That just broke my heart to hear that. I want so much for her to get better and to start loving herself again.
  

• For shit's sake, stop with the humid ass weather. I'm sick of being bathed in a constant sheen of sweat. There's not enough fresh blueberries, watermelon and ice cream in the world to make up for being in a constant state of sweatiness.

• And what's the worst part of being Champion Head Sweater of the World? This: It's back again. It's not quite to the giant, nearly purple, ready to burst stage but we're definitely at the getting swollen and hurts like a son-of-a-gun stage. Ready to burst should be in a few more days. Ugh.

• However there was one advantage to the neck funk - it got me out of the hair dyeing appointment with Tina. There was no way I was going to let anyone put stuff on my hair that would potentially touch my neck. I have enough problems - I don't need hair dye turning my neck funk into a raging volcano put on top of it all. I called her this morning to beg off our appointment and told her we'd reschedule when I was all healed up again. In the meantime I'm going to come up with a way to get out of it completely. Hmmm...maybe...let's see...tell her I don't want to do it! Now there's a novel idea!

• Enough of gross neck funk talk. Let's see something pretty! It's the sock I'm knitting for Mollie!

I will not be surprised to find out that Gross Neck Funk wants me to knit him socks.

Heartbroken

Magdeburg's soccer team missed going up to the second league by one goal in the last three minutes. And we just found out a good friend of the family has inoperable lung cancer.

Just an awful day.