"I'm your mom, not theirs." She might still go off about it actually. It used to come up a lot. I thought of it the first time I saw In The Heat Of The Night and "They call me Mr. Tibbs," came on.

Cereal: We were just out getting COVID shots. Kind of a drag, especially since my stomach was kind of like Happy Fun Ball last night, having one of its freakouts. (Anything that happens in my body that's slightly out of regulation, it's just always the worst LOLCat ever, like "I can haz vomit?" Argh.) But it makes me feel better to know that Bobby Junior can *suck it*--For every non-Nuzzi value of that slightly vulgar statement.

I still am suffering bronchitis. I did some digging in MyChart, because I’ve suffered this bronchitis thing at least once a year for the past few years, and mine and Mr. Loomy’s suspicions were correct: the clinic doctor I saw over the weekend, who was abrupt and didn’t listen to either of us, prescribed me less than half of the dosage of prednisone that I’ve had previously. No wonder I’m not getting better. So back to the clinic I go.

And yesterday was the last two of five MRIs. Now I wait for my doctor to give me information so I can call the back specialist.

If I’m going to be a sickly invalid, I want laudanum. And a trip to the seaside where someone will push me around in a fancy wheelchair. Then more laudanum.