(no subject)
I love being at the beach with the kids. It is heaven on earth for just about everyone, but especially for the kids. Watching them explore their world is so rewarding. Henry is speaking in sentences and sleeping in an adult bed. Rita's vocabulary, both spoken and signed, continues to explode. Among her favorite things to say: "Hen! Stop!" and "No! Mine!" Always spoken in conjunction with the handsigns. Greg has a handful of words and is scary smart. He lives in a tiny, neon green rashguard and boardshorts.
Tomorrow Rita goes in for an endoscopy. They are going to take a series of biopsies all along her GI tract. The kid has gone under general more than I have, and with fewer complications for more serious surgeries, for christssake, but I will always worry.
I have been in bed all day with a wicked sinus infection. Antibiotics are finally helping me win the war.
I had strange using dreams last night. My anniversary is coming up and I am sure it's no coincidence. Fuck, what I wouldn't give to never have to worry about staying clean again. I hate that nagging, gnawing feeling in the back of my mind. I am clean and happy and proud to be that way, but I know the disease, and I know my track record. I have lost so much of my life to drugs. I have no happy college memories or longtime friends because of it. I'll be damned if I rob myself of another minute.
My fucking face is throbbing. I wish I knew why every little cold has to snowball into a secondary infection with me.
Tomorrow Rita goes in for an endoscopy. They are going to take a series of biopsies all along her GI tract. The kid has gone under general more than I have, and with fewer complications for more serious surgeries, for christssake, but I will always worry.
I have been in bed all day with a wicked sinus infection. Antibiotics are finally helping me win the war.
I had strange using dreams last night. My anniversary is coming up and I am sure it's no coincidence. Fuck, what I wouldn't give to never have to worry about staying clean again. I hate that nagging, gnawing feeling in the back of my mind. I am clean and happy and proud to be that way, but I know the disease, and I know my track record. I have lost so much of my life to drugs. I have no happy college memories or longtime friends because of it. I'll be damned if I rob myself of another minute.
My fucking face is throbbing. I wish I knew why every little cold has to snowball into a secondary infection with me.