It may be "minor" surgery but the recovery sure isn't.

Yeah, that's for sure.

My sister has been awesome, dropping off ginger beer at regular intervals and calling to see if I need anything. I do feel better today, except that moving my head or body makes my head swim.

Note to self: avoid surgery, it's kind of awful.

But the key is the places I want to live.

That's why I stopped looking. And there's just one of me. I can keep shortchanging myself a bit longer.

CFerg came over Saturday, sans child (it's too late--he's too mobile for my very un-child-proof apartment--I told them to bring him earlier). At least when Colin visits we can spend time together during my trembling crushing pain jags, as opposed to having to stop on the way home and nap in parking lots when they hit. I really wish there was some way we could live closer together--I love him dearly, clearly, his girlfriend is amazing, and I adore his son.

But I live close to people and never see them too, so I can keep blaming distance if I want, but the problem is me.

Doctor's note has me off work through tomorrow. I think I will go in tomorrow.

Here's an annoying work thing: for the first time in my life I will be subject to random drug tests. This wasn't my boss's idea but something our biggest client inserted into our new contract with them.

It seems weird that a client can make us do that. But they're very big and we are very small.

That does seem weird. But big clients are like that.

OK, off to Vallejo. Sorry actual work, maybe I will get to you this afternoon.

We were up at Huntsman Cancer last night, having business in the isolation section where Hubby's going to be staying. It was a lot less Boy in a Bubble than I thought it would be, though Hubby said that's because there are lots of different levels of isolation.

Anyway, we were walking down the hall, and I saw a room labelled Stark for the patient name. I said, "People with that last name must get a lot of grief these days." Hubby: "They probably always have." Me: "The exposure is a lot more mainstream these days." Him: "Depends on what kind of geeks they hang out with." "True."

I think it's the ongoing conversation that builds off of thirty years of verbal cues that need to explanation that I love most. He and I have our own dialect, built off of multi-lingual puns. A friend was making a dictionary with etymology.

That's terrible, Consuela. Bad enough feeling terrible, but the vertigo makes it so difficult to do anything else.

Home from vacation. A/c is broken, elevators at my doctor's office are broken, it's raining, and the doctor is of course running late.

Returning from vacation always sucks, but that's even more sucky.

Here's a weird medical thing that I don't trust Dr. Google for info on. Every once in a while when I'm talking I suddenly feel like I can't control my mouth and tongue to speak properly and all I can do is make gibberish noises. Usually this happens for a second or so. Last night I was talking and this happened for about three or four seconds--I just couldn't form words at all during that time. I had to stop speaking, wait five seconds and try again, when everything was back to normal.

Is this something I should be concerned about?

eta: I'm a stutterer and this was nothing at all like stuttering.

Could be very brief seizures, tommyrot...