My Word is Worthless

Um, hey.

Yes, I know, I promised to be back on Monday. Also, I promised to update everyone on my mother's condition. Know what I did instead?

Went shopping. Oh, yeah--I'm a waste of life.

My mother is home, is still not fine, but does not have a diverticulitis inflammation, according to her CT scan. They have no idea what's wrong with her. Instead, they have given her pain meds, which is always a good idea when you are in constant pain of no discernible origin. She, gladiator that she is, is dealing with it way better than I would, and has managed to work a few nights. She's even threatening to exercise today, since the pain hasn't changed. My mother is of the same ilk as my grandmother; they could lose both legs and insist that someone drive them to work. I come from some strong people. Loony, maybe, but resilient.

I do have more entries of substance in the "simmer" phase, I promise. Which you don't believe, since I am a fatty-fat-fat liar. They are there. I just don't want you to see them. Also... they're made of gold... yeah, that's the ticket.

I'll be back tomorrow. My boss is out of town, so extra-long entry. I swear. [Hey look--a wolf!] No, REALLY. [Yeah, me too! Turn around!] I MEAN it. [No, he's all hairy, and... hairy...] Hmmph.

See y'all tomorrer.


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