Howz tricks mrpeenee, you ask?
Well, let's see,
I plunge into the next week faced with a nonstop barrage of parties (business parties, get real.) I will only be at home long enough each day to sleep before hurling myself into the next round of shaking hands and making small talk while my naturally soft voice dwindles into a Kathleen Turner-like rasp.
R man's chemo therapy is going OK, but he's very easily tired and recently developed a throat and mouth infection called thrush that is painful. Fortunately, he was smart enough to score the drugs to combat it early on, so hopefully it will have its wee little dick knocked in the dirt shortly. The waiting room in chemo land continues to irritate me, although they do have very nice candy there.
My face has decided it would like to be 15 again and has broken out all over the fucking place. My doctor has declared it stress related. Certainly it has caused plenty of stress and made shaving a blood sport.
Our charming friends Professor Puffy Pants and Denden are visiting and I have only yelled at everyone once. I think. They don't care because they love us and besides, they're used to me.
The people I work with are lazy, fat headed, idiotic slugs, but what's new about that?
We went to a charming french-y restaurant for lunch yesterday spoiled only by the fact they played Stevie Wonder's Isn't She Lovely four times. I was starting to twitch by the time we left. In other music related news, I frequently wake up with songs playing in my head. That sounds more precious than it is, and I suppose it's better than voices, but sometimes it's songs I like and sometimes it's the hits from some crappy jukebox. One time it was Close to You. Oy. This morning, luckily, it was the dulcet tones of Miss Julie London covering My Heart Belongs to Daddy.
Best of all, our fabulous, fabulous couch has FINALLY arrived. Photographic proof provided below. We're both wild for it, me because it's so lovely, R Man because it's basically a big bed in the middle of our living room. Yays all around.
