I don't know. I even got all angsty about it last night.

Pain is weird. My shoulder hurts, but it's not debilitating, it's just "there". Moderately distracting, a constant, low-grade ache. Nothing like ita or Hubby put up with. But the ibuprofen hasn't made much of a difference, and I find myself wishing tomorrow was surgery day.

I do not know how Hubby copes. He would say that he doesn't, and I absolutely do not want to know what it feels like when he cracks every now and then. One week to go, and I'll probably be kicking myself for putting it off so long.

Happy birthday Raq!!

job~ma Daniel!

congratulations Meara!

FLOMP

I know, P-C. I was thinking about that post, and about how much you kind of remind me of me at your age, except that (a) I never had the added stress of completely whacked-out family expectations (mildly kooky, but no worse than that), and (b) you're already further ahead at pushing through all the crap and getting better and saner and more grown-up than I was at your age.

So, let's see...I finally got my shit together and wound up partnered at 35 going on 36, and you're at least two years ahead of me and possibly increasing your rate of self-smartening/thoughtfulling, so I predict that... ::calculates, counts fingers, thinks, gives up, extracts random number ex cloaca:: twenty-eight and three-quarters will totally be your time.

Or possibly next week. There's really no way to tell.

As I mentioned elsewhere, I have another long distance crush. On someone you met, Nora. Now I just have to move to NO and convince him to do the same. Easy peasy, right?

I never had the added stress of completely whacked-out family expectations

These days, I am at the point where I just. Don't. Need. That. Shit. As long as I don't talk to them, they can't bring up any uncomfortable topics, and I can continue dealing with all the other shit. But I should probably still call home since I haven't called in over a week and they get touchy. I just have to enforce my lack of desire to engage in conversation on topics that I have already declared off-limits.

you're already further ahead at pushing through all the crap and getting better and saner and more grown-up than I was at your age.

Well, you didn't have the Buffistas.

twenty-eight and three-quarters will totally be your time

That's this June! I think you did the math wrong.

Give her a break! She pulled the number from her cloaca. You know how much shit is up there? You should be glad she didn't tell you your time was ovarian!

twenty-eight and three-quarters will totally be your time.

Or possibly next week. There's really no way to tell.

My time is probably when I retire.

You should be glad she didn't tell you your time was ovarian!

Wait until three hours after the follicular phase and you'll be golden. (Whose follicular phase to be determined.)

I'm slightly stressed in that I can't put my hands on some paperwork that my CPA needs. Without it I'll be out several thousand in taxes. Odds are I can get it tomorrow morning from the people who supposedly sent it the first time (it would be from a brokerage with an office a mile away). But I feel like a moron for not keeping my financial records straight. (Seriously—I thought I knew where every piece of paper involved in this was.)

My oldest sister has finished her chemo. She may well be on her Alaska cruise by now, she was aiming at the end of March. There's a scan in early April that will tell if the progression has stopped or, fates willing, been beaten back.

She says in her blog that she doesn't want to be considered a cancer survivor, because that suggests the battle's done. She prefers cancer warrior.

I do not want to lose her after being so many years without her.