Inauspicious
This has...not been the best birthday I've ever had. I spent most of it convinced that our ailing furball, Dexter, would probably have to be put to sleep, but the immediate danger of that is past. He's had three stitches put in, and we're going to keep monitoring him closely, and hopefully his liver functions will turn around like we need them to. He's not out of the woods by a long shot, but he's bought himself more time to get better. Of course this meant another vet bill, too - not huge, but big enough to make me wince a bit as I handed over the credit card.
Needless to say, I spent most of the day crying intermittently. And then finding out about the shooting at the Holocaust Museum was horrible. But Dex is back at home, and I've put more food and his first antibiotic pill down him (please let him not have sneakily spit it back up) and I'll go give him more sub-q fluids in a bit. I'll extend my birthday celebrations into the last few days of this week and make Bemo take me out to dinner. One of my magazines finally arrived, a Good Housekeeping from August of 1935, and it's full of jucy stuff I want to talk about, including a short story by L.M. Montgomery. So You Think You Can Dance was great. I have a hot shower waiting for me, and my co-workers, who never pass up a chance for baked goods, will be bringing a cake in tomorrow that I suspect will feature peanut butter frosting.
So. I'm 34 years old now. No better at the adult stuff, alas. I hope the year to come brings good things.
Needless to say, I spent most of the day crying intermittently. And then finding out about the shooting at the Holocaust Museum was horrible. But Dex is back at home, and I've put more food and his first antibiotic pill down him (please let him not have sneakily spit it back up) and I'll go give him more sub-q fluids in a bit. I'll extend my birthday celebrations into the last few days of this week and make Bemo take me out to dinner. One of my magazines finally arrived, a Good Housekeeping from August of 1935, and it's full of jucy stuff I want to talk about, including a short story by L.M. Montgomery. So You Think You Can Dance was great. I have a hot shower waiting for me, and my co-workers, who never pass up a chance for baked goods, will be bringing a cake in tomorrow that I suspect will feature peanut butter frosting.
So. I'm 34 years old now. No better at the adult stuff, alas. I hope the year to come brings good things.