Me, Myself & I

I've been to a zoo.  I've been to Paris.

But they're kind of rounding down the number.


Song by: John Prine

Left Hand

The wheels turn slow at the Bureau of Workers Compensation. 

Three weeks after my fall, they finally approved occupational therapy.  Three weeks.  And it only took about 10 sessions of OT before they decided I needed to see, you know, an actual ortho doctor....four days short of two months from the accident. 

But wait - you just can't see said doc. BWC has to approve it. Mind you, I had already made the appointment before that. Ruckiry (not Jon's boss), they came through with the approval a few days prior to the appointment, which was two days ago.

That initial 'nothing broken' diagnosis is seemingly incorrect. 

Blobby has a fractured scaphoid. 

Not only have I been told by every doctor I've seen in the last few weeks - mostly ones who work for me, who are not orthopaedic docs - that that type of fracture is easily missed (and can turn the hand necrotic(!) if not treated). While with the initial set of x-rays weren't sure what they were looking for, you'd still think a radiologist might have said something to the effect that - some of these fractures don't show up on "film" for weeks after the injury. 

The image on the left was my original x-ray. The one on the right is the Tuesday one.  You can now see the break. What we can't see is the full extent - and if the blood flow has been damaged. The radiology report seems to think so as the words, "altered vascularity" appear twice. 

But they don't know. Only a CT scan will show this.  {sigh}. 

Blobby can't just get a CT. BWC has to approve this. Naturally.  And between the holidays, no one is around to do the approval. I don't suspect I will get the scan in 2017.  I mean, tick tick tick. 

When / If I get the scan, and depending on the 'altered vascularity' status, surgery could be in my near future. Me, being me, has already resigned myself to this fate. I needed another scar. I mean, chicks dig them. 

But this entire event is exactly what is wrong with BWC and insurance today. They don't want to pay for the smaller stuff up front, like therapy. So a patient is in agony for weeks, setting their healing process back, which extends treatment and ultimately increases cost - the very thing they were trying to avoid. Now let's triple that with delay of treatment and testing (and no doubt surgery). 

That all said - there is a silver lining:  my transition to the dark side is coming along nicely. 

Song by: Crowded House

a Soft Place to Fall

You know where a soft place to fall isn't?  A marble floored lobby...........that's where.

Brown / Tan / White speckled marble....no one could see that anyone spilled what I can only hope to g-d was water. I didn't see it, and lord knows my shoes didn't.  I'm guessing the fall took all of 0.0002 seconds.

Usually, it's just my pride that is hurt.

That is not the case this time.

Now, at this time of day (I was leaving work), the lobby has any number of septuagenarians and octogenarians waiting for their transport to come pick them up.  It's nice and yet a little sad when the old ladies have to come over and check to see if you're ok.

The immediate response is: "thanks, I'm fine".  But this time it was a big fat lie. My glasses went flying. My iPhone flew out of my pocket too.  Thank g-d I'll be getting the X in a month.  Still, I had to sit for a few minutes to compose myself and assess the sitch, as it were.

I opted not to go to the ED, as from my previous lives, I know Monday afternoons-evenings are the worst day/time to ever go there. I thought I'd tough it out until the next morning.  .....and I did.  ....and I didn't.

I think it's safe to say that no one has ever been in more pain than myself, other than the few people buried alive in the collapse of the North Tower.

It was a good thing I don't have manual transmission. I could not touch the wheel with my left hand. The grip or the turning. Giving Shep his afternoon walk was precarious at best. 710 had to not only make dinner, but I could only carry one thing to the table. Any movement was just cringe-worthy.

I "joked" with 710 he might have to bathe me. Eventually he'd have to anyway, I'm just fast-forwarding a few years.

Anyhoo......it was a painful / sleepless night. I could not get comfortable, which is no surprise. Yesterday, I went through the entire Worker's Comp hoop-jumping. It wasn't bad. Got my xrays done (nothing actually broken.....phew), got my brace and my no-cost pain meds (nothing controlled).

This might set my shoulder PT back a few weeks, because of course it was on the same arm. On a good note:  the pain in my hand was so severe, I currently no longer feel pain in my shoulder. I'm sure it's still there, just comparatively it's minimal.


Song by: Allison Moorer

Other Voices

So over the weekend, Deedles left a blog comment regarding my Cedar Point video post that said  - and I quote - "your voice always startles me. You look like you should sound like James Earl Jones."

Naturally that got me thinking.

Then worrying.

Then I was wringing my hands.

....and then of course, the inevitable tears.

Clearly, I know I don't sound like Darth Vader - though I've considered purchasing the Vader voice changing mask. But the 'startles' part of the comment made me think:  do I sound like Charles Nelson Reilly?   Rip Taylor?  Gilbert Godfrey?

I don't mean to make Deedles second guess any comments she might make in the future or feel bad about the one she made. I'm actually joking about the entire thing.

Kind of.

I'm a big boy. I know I don't come off as hyper-masculine, vocally, that is. But I don't drop an excessive amount of esses either. I don't think. It's a happy medium.

Still, who likes to hear the sound of their own voice?


The comment did spur thought of an SNL clip.....which exactly plays to what is probably my reality....and my insecurity.....and my sense of humour.


Larry's voicemail greeting by Matt2h




Song by: the Cure

Tired

I'm sitting here.....exhausted.

I'm struggling to stay awake at 8:30.......and now 9:12.   It took me that long to get energy to type that.

Too tired to focus.

I'm not one of those guys who looks forward to the weekend. Sure I like them, but I'm not the work guy who laments: "two more days to the end of the work week".

Yet it's been a non-stop work week, and an average of about 5.5 hours of sleep per night.

So fuck it. I'm going to bed.

More tomorrow?



Song by: Adele

My Ever Changing Moods

It's been one of those weeks.  Or months. Possibly years.

What I feel to be myself maybe isn't quite myself.  I'm thinking I've been a bit off and maybe for so long that it's been quite the norm.

One gets into such patterns and so gradually, you just don't know you've changed, for better or worse. And even worse, you don't know how to change back, if that's what you choose to do.

I kind of had an notice that maybe I'm flowing through things the way I used to.

Change isn't always bad - thought most people resist it. I do. Or can.

It is how you deal and cope with it that tests you. And at a certain age, change can be daunting, but recognizing it and what you do with it is vital.

I know I'm quite vague here. I could be more specific, but I opt not to be.

It's not that I don't lay it all out here (or mostly), but I'm not sure what it is I am laying out, at this time,  or if I even want to. I'm internalizing and externalizing, to a point, at the same time.

Frustrating for me.

It's been a tough week. It's been a tough day.  But I have to say, I have an amazing family. And while I joke about my parents and sisters here, they are good folks, but I have to tell you, I have an amazing set of cousins - first, second and third cousins. Hell, even their spouses are great.

For whatever one goes through throughout the day, just hanging with them, even if you sit back and observe and say little, even in hard times, it is nice to have that kind of family. But more than family, they are friends.

...and you can't always say that about your family.

Here's to better days.


Song by: the Style Council 

19

Monday (what? I couldn't miss My Music Monday, could I?) would have been 19 years since I became cancer free.

I'd like to say my baldness was the result of chemo or radiation, but it is really just hereditary. I didn't even have chemo or radiation for my cancer. The thought, at the time, was if they couldn't successfully cut it out, there wasn't much else they could do for me.

On March 5, 1993, my doc put me under to cut out part of my right femur, oh and the malignant tumor.  The plan was to take the tumor out of there, use some bone from my hip to replace it and send me on my way.

Ok - that might be a bit too simplistic of an explanation, but the result ended up being the doc needing to take much more femur than expected for the hip solution to work. Instead, I have cadaver bone in me.

Spoooooooky.  No wonder my apartment at the time was haunted.

What you see is my actual post-op xray.  I have no light box in our house, because 710 doesn't want to display this like art - like I do - so I just held it up in the bathroom and took the pic.

Nice pelvic bone, no?

The radiology technician put a lead sack on my sac, you know, to keep me from being damaged - like I was going to have kids in the first place! To be fair, how would she have known?  Anyway, if you enlarge the pic you might be able to see that, welllllllll, she didn't cover everything.  It's not like they ever made a lead bag that big to cover Blobby Jr.  Something was bound to spill over the side. ....and it does.

And yes, that plate and those nine screws are still firmly in place, though if you want to get grossed out, you can feel some of the upper screws when I walk. 710 does not like that at all.

I am not an animal!!!!

For some reason, now and again, the leg vibrates. It's not painful, it just buzzes like once every 10 seconds.  Sometimes it just goes on for minutes, sometimes for hours.  And don't discount the fact that most times I can predict the low-front that is 12-36 hours out.  It might not always rain or snow, but the low front? it's a-comin'.

Now and again I get checked-up, but it's safe to say that I remain cancer-free.

I've written about this since the beginning of this blog and it is even beginning to bore me. I just came across the xray and it coincided with my surgery date.

Man, I really want that light box.


Song by: Paul Hardcastle

Nothing New for the New Year

I won't say I got nuttin', but I don't got much.

Like the title says, nothing new. At least not on day 1.

I have no huge plans or aspirations for 2011. This is not a bad thing. Last year was fine, but there was a new job and all, I'm ok with a little stability, I suppose for the next 365 - if the job market allows.

I guess I have goals and all, but right now they mostly seem to be centered on that gym thing and the personal training I'm supposed to start next week - something I'm already dreading before it begins.

I fear failure.

Not that the trainer will care that much - he'll get paid either way. I fear looking stupid or not being able to do the things that need to be done to get me to the next level. I fear it will be climbing the rope in 3rd grade P.E. class - something at which I never actually succeeded.

In a way it seems silly since I've been doing well the last two years, but I assume this is kicking it up a notch and not necessarily at my own pace.

But honestly, that is my only major goal. In the past it has been to socialize more and I think we're doing that. We do want to make time to travel more, or at least not lose our vacation time, which is something that happens to me on an annual basis - so it will take more planning and commitment on our part to get that done. Oh, and maybe that 12 movies per year goal too.

None of these are resolutions. I don't really believe in that. I think saying the word sets you up for failure. Kind of like committing to 10 weeks of personal training. Ugh.



Happy New Year all.



Song by: Harry Connick Jr.

Bald Headed Men

Oh, don't judge! The picture was taken almost three years ago. At least notice that you can see I have no full beard, not that I guess I couldn't have shaved in the last few days. ....but I didn't.

See, the post title? I needed an image to go along with it. ...and yes, I truly do own a cd from a group called the Four Bitchin' Babes. They are folksy but became more kitsch than anything else and except for Sally Fingerett (yes, her real name), there has been no other constant member. One Bitchin' Babe and a continual rotation of Three Bitchin' Temps.

But once again, I'm off topic.

The bald you see in the above image isn't even the 'bald' I'm talking about here....or about to talk about. This is the 'bald' I'm talkin' about.

Grossed out by it? Don't be. Or try not to be.

I've had those two bumps since birth. There has never been any hair on them and they always lacked any feeling when touched. And since kids can be cruel, growing up, like when I was in 3rd, 6th, 10th grades, etc, I was tormented for "going/being bald", I just threw it in their face that it was due to being hit by a car.

It wasn't.

I mean, I was hit by a car when I was about four (a total other story), but the scar tissue (which is what it is), is not from that. But it did shut those kids up. I guess by 8th grade I was taller than most kids, so most only saw it when I was sitting down and they were not.

Of course the joke was kind of on me, because I would be going bald, however I don't think those kids I went to school with were all that clairvoyant.

So no, don't be grossed out by that. Be grossed out by this!

In the past few weeks one of my "bumps" has been raised. Noticeably so by myself and the husband. Though I can't see it unattended, I'm sure that in proportion, it is just like Everest!!!

Oh, and I can feel it. Not pain, per say, but the area seems to have nerve-endings now. Oh - and it bleeds. ...and bleeds.....and bleeds.

No, I did not rake the clippers across it. Though I had no feeling in the bumps, they do make for an irregularly shaped head (shut up!), so I have always very cautious about just dragging stuff across them and usually protect the area with my fingers.

Now, the almost the slightest touch will get them to bleed. It's like I have a stigmata on my noggin. Maybe I can be canonized. Everyone else is having it done!

It's not like when people see me they don't bust out into "oh g-d! oh g-d!!!!"

....and not just in the bedroom, thank you!

So it has become enough for me that I have made an appointment with dermatologist about this. I wasn't sure quite who to consult on the matter, and I figured, if he couldn't help me, than the time wouldn't be completely wasted: I'd have him look at that persistent thumb-wart and get a second opinion....or third.

I'm getting tired of drying myself off after a shower and finding a towel with streaks of blood on it. Blech. Ruckiry (not Jon's boss), usually they are gym towels, so I don't have to worry about getting the stains out.

So in a week or so, I'll know what the deal is. Maybe they'll slice it down the middle, pull it together, fixing the issue and giving me a brow-lift in the process, that I so desperately need. Score!

Eh - we'll see. Which means - you'll see too.


Song by: Four Bitchin' Babes

Two Little Feet

This is going to be an icky post. One of those, Blobby doesn't wear deodorant, posts. You've been warned.

From my mother, I've inherited bad feet. Not like pigeon-toes or like I'm polydactyl man or anything. No, we (well, I) always made fun of my mom because her feet were so disgustingly dried and cracked.

Well folks, karma is a bitch.

Fast forward a few dozen years later and my heels are shot to shit. They have been for about I'd say 6-8 years. I pumice daily and, yes, get this, use Miracle Foot Cream almost daily. For a while these things helped. However, I've hit some kind of plateau on this "treatment" and I'm back to square one.

Q: What's a boy to do? I mean, one who is to embarrassed to go get a pedicure.

A: Get a Ped Egg, of course!

I know what you're thinking, that it's a fly-by-night gizmo like the Buttoneer II or the Egg Wave. I probably would have dismissed it entirely except that it got a more than decent write-up in Consumer Reports. Go figure.

So, while at Blood Bath & Beyond, I plunked down the $10 for the right to microplane the heels of my feet! Make no mistake, that's all it is - a mircoplane. But one in the form of an egg that catches your foot shavings.

Allow me to demonstrate:

This iPhone shot doesn't begin to detail how deep those crevasses go into my heels. Or how dry they are. But it's a good starting point.

You kind of get a glimpse at the same foot with icky skin in this shot, though it was just meant to demonstrate the Ped Egg itself.

Yeah, this is what it took off in just a few passes on one foot, nay - heel, alone. It is not grated parmigiano reggiano. I went a few more rounds and got equal, if not greater amounts off.

Honest to g-d: less than two minutes later, this is what my heel looked like. It looks a little red, but why wouldn't it be? It doesn't and didn't hurt in the slightest. And if you go to the first picture, the heel was a bit red to start with anyway.

It's not completely fixed of course. This was only my first shot and I'm sure I'll still pumice and moisturize, but maybe there is hope for me yet.

...and perhaps for my mother as well.


Song by: Karen Savoca

Dancin' With My Elf

It wouldn't be the holiday season if I didn't do the annual Elffing of myself.

Office Max is jazzing it up this year, with different dances and some singing.

As you can see near the post title, I tried out a Disco motif, but it wasn't working for me. I don't need to do the the Classic, as I've done that before. Country didn't call to me, nor did Hip Hop.

So you get the singing one. (which is hyperlinked above)
It appears that Office Max has me dancing better than I do in my posted blog videos, but worse than I think I do in the kitchen while I'm making dinner. Maybe I can get OM to help me win the Jiggy Dance WhoreOff IV, whenever that might be.

It sucks that they make you pay $5 if you want to keep it forever. As it is, you can only view it until January 15th.

Enjoy it.


Song by: Morty via Billy Idol....or vice versa.

This Was the Year

365.

Today is the day.

I've completed my one post per day, every day, for the last year.





Song by: Nina Gordon

The Trick is to Keep Breathing

So on Tuesday I made my way to an otolaryngolgist. ....or as you might know of them, an Ears, Nose and Throat guy.

Really, I only went for the nose part, since I've got a big schnoz and all. It's not that I want to reduce it, I like it the way it is. But for as big as it is, it would be nice to actually be able to get air through it. ...at least the left side. My left, not stage left.

This is not a new affliction - it's been constant for as long as I can remember. I'm just considering fixing it now. Well.....reconsidering it.

I'd say about 20 years ago, I went to an ENT in Columbus and the old coot physician said he could fix it, but there was only a 70% chance it would be better. I needed better odds than that. At that time, after the procedure, your sinus cavities were packed with gauze and only one way to take it out. My understanding was, that was more painful than the surgery itself. "Blinding white-hot pain" was the description. I was out.

Now it is two decades later and technology, success rates and NO packing have come a long way. So, I'm back to checking it all out.

The appointment / evaluation was quick. I snapped a quick pic of the instruments he might use on me.

He only used the three from the left. The one on the far left made me feel like I was probably looking like Link Hogthrob. Oh, how I wish. It was probably more like Dr. Strangepork. As ridiculous as it may have looked, for the time he had me pried open, I could breathe.

One instrument not pictured was also used - a fiber-optic camera that went right up my nostril. It didn't hurt, but it sure felt weird. He talked about how far back the deviation actually was, but it is fixable - with surgery, obviously.

A 45 minute procedure. No packing. One stitch.

The surgery cannot replicate my current nighttime breathing mode: sleeping with my thumb pulling along my sinus to keep it open. Oddly enough, that is more effective than the surgery can do. More odd? I can pretty much do that through the night....or most of it. I've trained myself well.

There is a huge downside to the procedure though: no exercise for 10 days!


Song by: Garbage

Dangerous Type

Two more weeks or so of fingers to keyboard and I can potentially take a blog break. Potentially.

It would be hard not to do this daily, but lately, I'm thinking - wow, it would be nice to take a few days off. I think it's mostly a 'how busy my life seems to be these days' fatigue I'm just feeling right now. It's not you. It's me.

Normally I don't talk work here and I really won't. Maybe the high-level view. I am not one who needs a pat on the back for what I do. Odd for a Leo, but I rather do a good job and be left alone. Unfortunately, it seems I do a good job and all I get it, 'what else can you do for us'. It's a bit disheartening. I'm in the black - by quite a bit, when I was told I wouldn't even break even.

Where's the 'thanks', I tell ya.

So that has just been a bit draining for me. More than I normally care to admit - let alone here.

Hell, even yesterday I didn't get out of bed until 5:30a. Yes, I skipped the gym. Shock! I know.

I lay there at 4:00a and told myself I just couldn't do it. I wanted to stay in bed, so I did. I never really fell back asleep, of course. I spent so much energy on the guilt of not going and trying to justify going after work or I could get there if I left NOW.

Neither happened. I knew I had a busy and late day, so I was going to miss yoga as it was - I had no idea how I'd get in my cardio and weight routine. So I got in none of it. And I'm not really beating myself up over it. It could be said I'm an all or nothing kind of guy - so I was nothing.

It's why you've gotten me ALL year.

I know some of you have asked why I am doing this. It was not my intent to do it. I just happened to be blogging a lot and in April or so I found out I was five months in without a break. Then I thought I'd take it to 'x' date and at some point I figured I just had to go the entire 365.

December 5th. That's the date. Or is it?


Song by: the Cars

All the Lazy Dykes

I am being lazy today. Way lazy.

Yeah, I'll head to the gym and spin class (I mean, Andy is teaching today!) After that, I don't know what I'll do.

We did indeed hire out folks to clear our leaves and the pile in the front to be taken away is every kid's dream of jumping into. It's huge! (that's what she said!) So I don't have to do that, though the few that fallen since are bugging the ever-loving shit out of me. Is it enough for me to do anything about it? Probably not.

But right now, Denton's working. In reality, I could go into the office and get alllll the stuff that has been put on the back burner due to budgets and get them out of the way. But then there is that whole lazy thing I've got going on.

I'm not so lazy that I won't go eat lunch or anything. I mean, I'm lazy, not certifiable


Song by: Morrissey

Older

There is a slight ray of sunshine from my blog being down for a week. But just a slight one. Maybe two.

My archives are back. All of them. All the way back to March 2000 and fucking 3.

When I switched from blobbysblog.blogger.com to just blobbysblog.com, I lost a lot o'shit. I didn't really lose it, but you couldn't see it. I could - but that didn't help you none.

So for those who care to see what I've bothered to scribble in the past, and have a few hours or days on your hand - go knock yourself out. If nothing else, you can see how I've progressed as a blogger - or not. I can't tell you what to feel about my writing.

The other thing that is fixed is my RSS feed. To be honest, the only person who seemed to care was Larry. I'd get emails or comments from him - and now he can get off my back!!!! : ) To be fair, he picked up on the fact almost immediately that it had been fixed. I've never used an RSS feed myself - so I don't know how it exactly works or what you'd do with it, but once again - go knock yourself out.

Now I have two more things to do: fix images that disappeared prior to October 2006 and get my blog image I used to have back on top of the main page.

I guess I have a third thing to do too - I will lessen the amount of posts on the main page, so the blog will load quicker. You see so many posts now because when they went to the archive files they disappeared. Now that that problem is fixed, I'll help get you to where you want to be quicker.

Don't tell aplus.net though. I'm still pissed at them, even though, in theory they helped push me to fix some stuff.


Song by: George Michael

Bear Beach

I thought I'd throw you guys a few random vacation shots. Maybe not so random....perhaps more carefully chosen.

I guess this would be 'Bear Pool'

This would be Bear Beach!

Cool whispy sky - the day after Hurricane Bill

Oh - such a deep picture. Don't you think? And lookee how big my feet are! ...and you know what they say about big feet! Big boots!

Shadow pictures make me look thinner. I like shadow pics.

This is one of the mostest favourite pics I took while in OBX. It almost looks more like a painting than a digital photo.

Bear Bed. Me in the morning. Not the best angle or best shot.

A great sunset over the Sound.

Song by: A Camp

Mother's Pride

So by now - you all know I had a crappy week. But the week has ended and I have to move on.

And while I thank all of you who wished me a happy day on Thursday, I got one special email that made me a little emotional. Normally, I'm not swayed much by stuff like this - but I'm chalking it up to my crappy week. ...and it just hit me in a certain way.

Happy Birthday dear Blobby. Happy Birthday! I love you so much!!!! M.


The M is my mom. ...and no, she didn't really call me 'Blobby'. She put my real name in the email.

So I did call her - as I always do on my birthday. The reality is, I did nothing on this day. She did all the work. I just kind of showed up. It is really mothers that should be celebrated on these days - not their snot-nosed kids.

But I called and told her I liked her email. She wasn't buying any of it, but I plead my case - and I told her about Fred. I didn't say I was probably feeling emotionally vulnerable, but maybe she figured that out.

Mind you - all that good will got flushed straight down the toilet when I got home and she had dropped off a card that (and I'm paraphrasing) told me what a pain in the ass I am.

...and just for the icing on the cake, she put my father's initials on the envelope. Now my father and I have similar initials, and sure, she's known him longer, but still...........

Now she's claiming to have done it on purpose, and I ain't buying it. In reality she knows I hold power of attorney and will throw her in a home given half the chance for being senile.


Song by: George Michael

Shades of Grey

I've said since the age of 22, that I would kill for the chance to go grey - as it seemed I would have zero hair by the time greying would naturally occur.

Yes, I am follically challenged, and I'm ok with it. More than ok, actually. I can't imagine having to deal with hair, and product and getting it dry and looking "just right". It is quite liberating.

Now that I turn 46 today (or really, starting my 47th year), I no longer have to worry about not going grey. I am indeed going grey, for what hair I have that is left over. Yay me. Seriously.

I have more than a little grey in my goatee and in my sideburns. I do not let what hair I have left on the dome get long enough to really show the grey, but in the right light, that schnauzer cut shimmers in silver from just the right angle.

But there are two grey hairs that seemingly bother me - and they are my oldest two. They reside in my right eyebrow and have been there for years. They are a metaphor for my current life.

I will admit to plucking these two buggers. They grow wild and are a different texture than any other hair I have. And even with the tweezer action, they come back. They are a sign that I never really am able to hide from age.

The irony is, of course, I never thought I'd live this long. I've covered this in all my birthday posts over the last six years, I believe. Yet here I am - 46 (or 47) and with grey hair.

Up until a year or two ago, even I would have said I did not think I looked my age. People would continually assume I was in my late 30s, which was great, I guess. I chalk it up to never smoking and not being in the sun for any long periods of time.

Unfortunately, lately I feel as if I look every day of my age. The gym takes care of certain things, but the eyes tell all - and not the glacially greying eyebrows. Just the sag of the skin under the eyes. Granted, much of this is probably helped by a (un)healthy case of insomnia

That all being said, I was at a training session the other day when during a break, the instructor was playing Led Zeppelin's "Rock and Roll". Now, this song - whether you like the group or not - transcends just one period in time. But some woman in the group said to me, "oh you probably aren't even old enough to know this song!".

It's one of those fine lines: I should be happy she doesn't think I'm old enough for this song, while in reality I was very much aware of it when it was originally released. On the other hand, I'm like 'what the hell?'. I guess there is no pleasing me. News Flash!

So yes, I'm balder, greyer and older today. But I guess that is true of every day.



Song by: the Monkees

Tymps (the Sick in The Head Song)

Lovely image, huh?

Well, I'm not feeling lovely or even can muster up the energy to pretend that I am.

When it comes down to it, I'm probably a lousy patient. At least on some levels. I'm a great surgery patient, but when it comes to aches and pains and sniffles, the world should revolve around me.

Oh who am I kidding? I'm a Leo. The world does revolve around me. What was I even thinking?

But to be frank, I cannot control everything - as much as that pains me. This cold has got me by the balls, so to speak. It's not allergies and yesterday I ruled out H1N1. It's just a summer cold. And there ain't nothing I can do about (whoa-whoa-whoa.....).

So I got into the family medicine clinic where I work. That will be the last time I do that. I believe Emma Lazarus wrote a poem about this place.

It was the dregs. I was the only one there who didn't bring my kids or parents. Oh, and the doc to see me happened to be the chairman of the department. A guy I interviewed with over a year ago and he turned me down. Awkward!!! (say it in that gay sing-songy voice. you know the one.)

Even more awkward was giving him my entire medical history and coupled it with the thought that if I had to run such a department that was so heinous, I would have jumped off the nearest bridge.

So - what did I get from this experience? Zilch. Basically.

It's a cold. Nothing they can do. It has to run its course. It's going to be a miserable week - for me and all who come in contact with me.

Fairly be warned! Arrrrgh.


Song by: Fiona Apple