My week has been a little like that. The extremes have perhaps not been quite so severe as in Weather Whiplash, but they've made for an interesting week nonetheless.
I spent the majority of last week trying to cram in all those last-minute things like doctor's appointments, procuring textbooks, running errands and bonding time before the girlie had to head back to the frozen tundra for her spring semester on Monday. In the midst of shopping for new luggage and bonding on Thursday, I paused long enough to call my doctor's office for the delinquent ultrasound results. As I mentioned a couple of posts ago, not much came of the results. When I finally talked to Nurse Attitude Problem, she told me I had exactly the same thing that the CT scans told me I have. I was also told that Dr. Doofus (neé Earnest) thought I needed to do another CT scan or an MRI so they could finally figure out the apparently incredibly complicated task of determining whether I have a cyst of a tumor. I never would have dreamed this process was so inexplicably difficult. Anyway, Nurse Snotwad informed me that she would call later with any appointments, etc. Whatever. I'll be sure and write rude things about you both in my will--just in case--since you clearly have no sense of urgency regarding my kidney and its mysterious mass.
Anyway, I spent the rest of the weekend hanging out with my girlie and watching movies and TV around her doing laundry and packing and such. On Saturday we went to a puppy sale at Petland and fell in love with an adorable Pomeranian puppy who was very playful and full of energy. I would have taken him home if it weren't for his low, low pedigree price of $1300. Bye-bye, adorable puppy! Over the weekend I also made the girlie a couple of her favorite dishes for her "last meals" at home, feeling somewhat macabre while I did so because I couldn't think of a better term than her "last meal," which just made it sound like I was going to fatten her up with French toast and then stuff her into my car trunk or something. It was all a little on the creepy side. Then, to make matters worse, I started getting sniffly on both Saturday and Sunday nights, crying myself to sleep in a combination of already missing her and of being annoyed at myself for my crying before she'd even left.
I always miss the girlie when she goes back to school...most moms do, right? But I don't usually become quite such a mess about it. With each trip, it's gotten a little easier to let go, though admittedly after having her home longer in the summer and at Christmastime makes it a bit harder. For some reason I don't entirely understand, though, this time seemed worse than usual. Perhaps it was a result of all the medical uncertainty currently surrounding me as several of my friends have suggested; I don't know. In any case, I got her safely and punctually to the airport on Monday morning, enjoyed breakfast with her at an Atlanta Bread in the food court, then saw her off to security like a good mommy. I hugged her and kissed her goodbye, smiling and waving at her as she passed through the checkpoint and onto one of the many scanner lines. Then I headed to the restroom stall to take care of business and promptly lost it. A few minutes later I pulled myself together then headed out to my car, intending to wait there till I knew the plane was safely off. Don't judge me--you know a lot of you do the same thing.
Once I made it to my car, I started sobbing again, this time as though the pour child were dead instead of just on a freaking plane. I mean seriously--what the heck? I haven't been this distraught since taking her to school for the very first time, a mere three weeks after moving here and having to come back to an empty house in a town where I knew no one. I cried like a fool for the better part of an hour, till my flight tracker showed her in flight at last, at which point I again forcefully pulled my big girl panties up and drove over to the Kilwin's in Atlanta for some consolation fudge. Naturally, they were completely out of the only kind I wanted--the basic, no frills, milk chocolate fudge. To make it even more annoying, this was the third or fourth time in a row they've been out on one of my post-airport runs. Grumbling, I went back to my car and headed over to pick up our pottery. The girlie's turned out beautifully, with some of her SCA logos rendered free-hand in astonishing detail. My tray came back chipped. On the front. Yup. After that I just headed home, where I found that Barnes and Noble had sent not one but two identical textbooks for the girlie. At least they didn't double-charge me for the extra book, though I still have to return it now.
|Girlie's goblet with the Raven of Thescorre.|
|Pretty red inside...great for disguising the blood of enemies.|
|Alanna's rampant lion. From memory.|
|Aethelmearc's heraldry...also drawn from memory.|
|A very uninspired tray I made to hold toiletries in the guest bathroom. I was completely lacking in design ideas that day.|
I was a mess for the rest of Monday, and cried on and off all day Tuesday as well. I threw myself a pity party of epic proportions, and I cannot even claim hormonal influence fueling the fire. I still don't know why this time was so much worse than usual, but there you go. I went to my choral rehearsal Tuesday evening and felt better while there, though I practically had to drag myself out of the house kicking and screaming. After rehearsal I took myself out for a late dinner, during which I chatted with a favorite server. I left feeling better, at least till I got home; at least that self-pity relapse was relatively short-lived.
By Wednesday, I was starting to feel a little more myself again, not that I accomplished much. My blogiversary whizzed by unremarked upon by me. I ate, I mailed my daughter a late textbook, I went to choir practice. It was all very unexciting, at least until UPS dropped off a box of delicious cherry-flavored goodies sent from my dear friend G. Earlier in the month another dear friend sent me some lovely fudge from See's. Having loving friends rain yummy food on you is awesome enough by itself, but having treats arrive at the height of Wallow Week is simply spectacular. Timing is everything, you know.
|How can you not love a place called the "Cherry Republic"??|
Yesterday I was back to doing mundane chores and starting to sift through all the crap on my desk that got shunted aside during the girlie's last week of break, such as depositing her monthly allowance, writing checks, and making appointments. I realized at the end of the day that it had been a week since my last chat with Nurse Bitchy, and I still haven't heard anything about either a CT scan or MRI. Clearly they found my insistence on doing the scan at a diagnostic center instead of the hospital inconvenient and therefore selfish and are therefore punishing me by maintaining radio silence. It's truly frightening to me that Dr. Doofus actually rated so highly on RateMDs.com. I have yet to speak to her personally about any of this; meanwhile Nurse Buttmunch continues to display all the consideration and efficiency of week-old tofu. The Edsel was more freaking successful and useful than Nurse Buttmunch. On the plus side, I did get some bedding washed and I got to make fun of the hubs for laughing hysterically like a 13-year-old boy at the incredibly puerile "wood" jokes on Big Bang Theory's 100th episode last night.
|Awesome fan art.|
Now it's Friday (and if you start singing that Rebecca Black song I will have to cut you), and I've still accomplished precious little this week. The fudge I ordered online from Kilwin's in the middle of my wallowing (which I ordered as much to thumb my nose at Kilwin's Atlanta as to actually gorge myself on pity chocolate) arrived; not surprisingly it was far less satisfying in reality than in theory, not that I still won't cram it down my throat this weekend in an attempt to purge a largely unpleasant week, before settling down to the business of getting off my rear and making some attempt at becoming healthier. Even though my chocolate horde was somewhat of a disappointment, by contrast my mail retrieval was not. When I walked out to the curb with my dog to collect the day's postal offerings, I was elated to see a small container of Honeybell oranges jammed inside my mailbox. Although there was no card enclosed, I can only assume that they are from yet another dear friend--one LCM--who sent me my very first Honeybell last January. These lovely little gems come with a plastic bib and instructions for eating. Laugh if you will, but these oranges are so juicy that the bib is more than warranted. Having been forewarned by both LCM and the instructions, I cautiously broke into the first orange while stationed over the sink and swathed in my plastic lobster bib. What followed was nothing less than an explosion of ambrosia, which I subsequently scarfed down in an orgasmic paroxysm of joy. Needless to say, I have the best friends EVER.
|I can almost taste them just from this picture. Juicy, juicy oranges...|
So this has been my last week or so: Crappy nurse, shopping shopping, movie, movie, Five Guys, French Toast, laundry, packing, tacos, TV, airport, crying like a rejected Idol contestant, wallowing, Barnes & Noble shipping fail, wallowing, wallowing, rehearsal, dinner, wallowette, awesome cherry noms, boring chores, choir, tv, boring chores, laundry, bank, toe starting to look normal, boring chores, anticlimactic fudge, dysfunctional printer, heavenly oranges, blog.
Aren't you glad you missed it?
Edited to add: On later inspection, I finally discovered a greeting typed on the box label that had been folder over to the back side of the box and therefore causing me to miss it originally. Turns out the delicious oranges are indeed from the very generous and lovely LCM, and I look forward to drowning in their succulence for dessert tonight.