Not dead yet.
Not dead yet.
Hip hurting less, although 'less' is subjective. Technically, two molecules of ebola will kill you less than a swimming pool's worth of the stuff, but you will still be dead. I hurt less than I did, but I am still in enough pain to be sluggish, grumpy, and inclined to go sprawl on my heating pad like a very blonde lizard. Meredith, Chris, and Lilly are putting up with this, because a) they love me, b) very blonde lizards are cute, and c) there's a very good chance that I'm armed, and even slowed down by pain, I can move pretty fast when antagonized or feeling threatened. Also, at present, all three of them are more sluggish than I am.
Meredith likes to close the bathroom door while she uses the facilities. This is normal. Lilly does not agree, and nearly gave herself an aneurism this morning trying to wake me up to tell me that OMGWTFBBQALPACA, Meredith was peeing in a closed room and might die. My cat is a liiiiiiiittle bit weird. A trifle. A titch.
Chris is killing crabs in a big metal pot. Because it isn't a visit to California unless one of us is sick or injured, and crabs are dying for our sins. The Crustacian Jesus died for yoooooooooou.
Meredith is here, by the way. Meredith is fully clothed, lounging in a chair, and talking about alternate Buffy universes, which is usually a sign of a reasonably happy Mer. (I mean, I suppose a miserable Mer might talk Buffy because she's trying to make herself feel better, but that probably wouldn't involve, y'know, the promise of potential porn. All the signs point to a reasonably happy Mer.) I am in my place of Mer-based bliss, despite the hurting in the hip.
Today is relatively mellow, looks like. Tomorrow, we shall go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, so that Mer can see giant seahorses, and I can delight in the ongoing existence of sea otters. (Hello, Drina!) Tuesday is, as yet, undetermined. Life is good.
Party on.
Hip hurting less, although 'less' is subjective. Technically, two molecules of ebola will kill you less than a swimming pool's worth of the stuff, but you will still be dead. I hurt less than I did, but I am still in enough pain to be sluggish, grumpy, and inclined to go sprawl on my heating pad like a very blonde lizard. Meredith, Chris, and Lilly are putting up with this, because a) they love me, b) very blonde lizards are cute, and c) there's a very good chance that I'm armed, and even slowed down by pain, I can move pretty fast when antagonized or feeling threatened. Also, at present, all three of them are more sluggish than I am.
Meredith likes to close the bathroom door while she uses the facilities. This is normal. Lilly does not agree, and nearly gave herself an aneurism this morning trying to wake me up to tell me that OMGWTFBBQALPACA, Meredith was peeing in a closed room and might die. My cat is a liiiiiiiittle bit weird. A trifle. A titch.
Chris is killing crabs in a big metal pot. Because it isn't a visit to California unless one of us is sick or injured, and crabs are dying for our sins. The Crustacian Jesus died for yoooooooooou.
Meredith is here, by the way. Meredith is fully clothed, lounging in a chair, and talking about alternate Buffy universes, which is usually a sign of a reasonably happy Mer. (I mean, I suppose a miserable Mer might talk Buffy because she's trying to make herself feel better, but that probably wouldn't involve, y'know, the promise of potential porn. All the signs point to a reasonably happy Mer.) I am in my place of Mer-based bliss, despite the hurting in the hip.
Today is relatively mellow, looks like. Tomorrow, we shall go to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, so that Mer can see giant seahorses, and I can delight in the ongoing existence of sea otters. (Hello, Drina!) Tuesday is, as yet, undetermined. Life is good.
Party on.