So here we are at the penultimate post for Blog 365. It seems like it should be something profound, eh? All I've got for you, though, is a series of kvetches.
I'm back home with another week off. I'm wishing the arms would be pain-free so I could knit, and they are finally making progress, but they're not there yet. The herbal supplement seems to be working, but it's a subtle improvement, not a magic bullet kind of one. I saw the chiropractor last night who gave me electric stim, some special stretches to do, and an admonition NOT TO KNIT (bastard). Apparently I was so mad at him for saying that (or my arms were still twitching so profoundly from the electric stim, and in addition my brain was turned off), that I was later weaving across the center line in my car. Or so said the police officer who pulled me over.
TRUE. But apparently I was so cute and charming myself, that once he smelled my breath and found I was not drinking, he let me on my way. But not before he noticed that my inspection sticker was about to expire in two days. My gawwwwd!!! Could anything more go wrong with my day? At least he did not make me get out of my vehicle on the pothole-filled road to do those manual dexterity tests that I have always heard about -- the ones about which I, a person who practices yoga and who is in pretty damn good shape, have always said, "Who could do that?!" Seriously, who could stand on the side of the uneven road, in the dark, with a police officer's flashlight in the face, with cars going by and the wind blowing, and hold up his right leg 12 inches off the ground while touching his nose and looking backwards, without swaying? Honestly? Who! Raise your hand if you can even do this on the flat floor of the yoga studio! Come on. Raise your hand.
Who has seen the Reno 911! episode about manual dexterity tests where the woman police officer starts giving jazz dance commands because the big ole fat drunk guy passes all the rest of the dexterity tests, and guy gets them ALL PERFECT? Oh, I love that show.
Wait, I have more kvetching to do.
I have another massage scheduled for Wednesday (rescheduled from Saturday because of my spontaneous trip to NYC). If I'm lucky, I should be ready to knit just in time to go back to work next week. Sigh.
I seem to have gotten rid of the woman with creditors calling my BlackBerry number, but now I'm getting wrong numbers with a freakish frequency. WTF!
There were three yesterday while I was traveling home from New York City. Is that even possible? And they're always these chipper, "Hi, Diane!" or "Hi, Stevie!" "Hi, Julie!" thrilled-to-hear-your-voice kind of phone calls. And I go, "WHO?!" and they say, "This is GAIL!" or something equally thrilling and chipper. And I go, "Who are you trying to reach?!" And they go, "Oh, sorry. Wrong number."
Bleeding hell. WHAT is that? Who ARE these people who are supposedly dialing the wrong number and getting my BlackBerry? Why is my number apparently so eminently mis-dialable?! I believe they are some sort of sales calls, but I don't really know. They make it sound like they're my long-lost sister. It's a good thing I am so friendly and good-natured and love people so much, is all I'm saying. In case that was ambiguous, it was intended as sarcasm. Pfft.
I went out for Chinese food with a couple of colleagues the other day, and this was in my fortune cookie:
Riiiiiiight. Please define good luck, Mr. Fortune.
It ripped when I was putting it in the scanner. I figure that's meaningful in some way. And it can't be good.