Okay first, I have links to a couple of interviews I just did...
Here's the article on Suite 101
and here's the link for Pajamas and Coffee
In other old business, your emails to Living editors are working and the response to the Humor Hotel columns has been great! (I suspect emails from subscribers hold more weight than non-subscribers, just FYI.) My first column comes out on March 23 and if you think I won't mention that a million more times between now and then, well, you'd be wrong.
In keeping with old business, we do net yet have a purchase or a rental home secured. Ha, ha! No panic here! But it's getting warm out and Fletch and talked about finding a place with more outdoor living space. And what has more outdoor living space that the actual outdoors?
In new business, it would appear that I've given myself pink eye. Double barrel. Because apparently I am both twelve years old and dirty. My eyes started to get irritated a few weeks ago due to a combination of house stress and allergies. Because I couldn't keep my filthy fingers out of them, hello conjunctivitis!
I made a relatively mortifying call to my physician to get eye drops. My doctor sounded distressed, employing a shotgun line of questioning on exactly what had been going on with me lately. I thought her concern was odd and a bit intrusive until I remembered the reason for my last visit.
Earlier this winter, one of the kittens horked up a small worm. If you recall when we rescued the guys this summer, they were about a day away from dying due to massive dehydration and infestation. (Luckily, their problems were nothing three surgeries, seven thousand dollars, and a canceled Hawaiian vacation couldn't fix.) My vet told me that no matter how thoroughly the kittens were treated, there's always the possibility of a straggler. Also, if one kitten has worms, they all have worms. And if the kittens have worms, the dogs probably have worms, so I took them to the vet, too. After treatment, my dogs' vet mentioned if my pets have worms, then there's the slightest possibility I might have worms.
Awesome.
So I went to see my doctor. In order for her to diagnose me, she needed a sample. I sat there in my drafty paper gown, waiting for her to get out a needle and draw my blood. Instead, she came back with what looked like an enormous white plastic top hat and instructed me to place it on my toilet seat and "go to town." Then she gave me some little spatulas so that I could divide up said sample for various tests.
When I got home, I stared long and hard at my white plastic top hat and spatula collection.
And I decided I'd rather have worms.
And then I spent two weeks dodging my doctor's follow up calls.
So it makes sense that when I've presented twice with symptoms more commonly seen in the homeless, it stands to reason that she was worried. I assured her that all was well, she didn't need to call Adult Protective Services, and that I wasn't living outside.
Yet.
