Mr Peabody has been barking at something on the other side of the privacy fence behind me for three hours. I'm sure he's driving everyone else mad, but is apparently having no effect on the people directly behind me, or they'd come outside and shoo the possum or whatever it is. I suspect my yelling at him is more annoying than the barking. The incredible roving joint pain from one of the drugs has attacked my right knee and working my way up to the back of the yard was agony. I'm too weak to hustle him inside the way I did when I was well. I feel so helpless.
Spike's Bitches 48: I Say, We Go Out There, and Kick a Little Demon Ass.
[NAFDA] Spike-centric discussion. Lusty, lewd (only occasionally crude), risqué (and frisqué), bawdy (Oh, lawdy!), flirty ('cuz we're purty), raunchy talk inside. Caveat lector.
Oh Ginger. That sucks for all of you.
Ginger, I'm so sorry.
Ginger, that is terrible.
Ginger, that's not fair, and I wish there were something I could do.
I know you've had to face this too, Typo, but it's so hard to deal with not being able to do things I could a year ago. I feel like I'm greeting each day the way Dorothy Parker responded to a knock at the door: "What fresh hell is this?"
I'm always sorry to hear someone else going through it. And its not as though you don't have enough medical issues. Believe me, first hand experience does not make me less sympathetic, or keep me from wishing you less hurting.
Ginger, I'm so sorry.
Ugh, Ginger, I'm so sorry. Mr. Peabody! Be good! Your momma ain't got time for dat.
I'm sorry Ginger, it's all so unfair