So I got one of the new Fruitista Freezes at Taco Hell today because it’s like a million degrees outside in Memphis today. I got the just Strawberry instead of the Strawberry Mango, ‘cos sometimes mango doesn’t taste too good to me.

I give it a pretty enthusiastic thumbs up, even with the half dozen ice cream headaches that came with it.

The Squirrel Queen claims that one can relieve brain freeze by pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth, adding that it warms the nerve endings there that cause the ache. And Rachel agreed with her. But I dunno about that, that sounds awfully weird to me. I’ll try it next time tho.

Pretty much everything I had planned for the weekend, especially dog baths, has been put on hold while I nurse a sore finger and hand (other hand). A neighborhood dog somehow wandered into my back yard yesterday and, naturally, there was a dog fight, and apparently I lost.

My left index finger is bruised and purple and swollen and hurting lots more today than it did yesterday, though I don’t think it’s broken, and my right hand is faring only a little better. There’s really only so much you can do in that situation and you can’t REALLY break up a multi-dog altercation like that when you’re just one person, and frankly I didn’t even realize I was hurt until after it was all over with. The wandering dog appeared to be okay and probably more frightened than hurt, and again, I was probably more injured than anyone else.

I know the wayward dog’s owners are having trouble keeping him from getting out of their own fence; like many Labs and Lab mixes, he’s apparently a master at sneaking out. And he’s loose all the time, a sweet dog but skittish, and tends to bark at people. I stepped out the front door once to find the postal carrier standing on my porch with mace in her hand and scared to death, so much so I had to walk her through her next two or three stops and past the neighbor dog to assure her it would be okay and he wouldn’t bother her. I think the postal service, if not someone else on the street, has called about him being loose before. He’s loose so much, and for such long periods of time, I worry about what might happen to him.

On the other side of the coin, mine never get out of their back yard, save for a couple of accidental escapes where they were reined in quickly. In fact, they don’t even go out unsupervised because I know there’s a few places they could scoot out, even though they are clueless about it.

One time when one of those accidental escapes occurred, the utility meter reader lady was standing at the side of the house, and at first I was worried sick what might happen, but then Tweedledee and Tweedledummy (Buster and Bruiser) were just walking around her and then walking around the front yard like la-la-la-la-la. I just rolled my eyes and herded them back through the gate and into the back yard.

People come in the house and they’re fine, if not a little hyperactive. When the AC repairman came the first time, I managed to get everyone put up in the bedroom except Bruiser, who refused to go. And who hid under a table the entire time the guy was here.

Bruiser and Buster have wiggled through the gate and run around the front yard with that very same dog out there outside the gate before, with no ill effects. My dogs live with numerous cats. I could bring that dog into the house (though it would never happen, he’s much too skittish) and aside from the hyperactivity that would result, things would be fine.

But let that dog or another cat that’s not theirs or a bird or a rodent or whatever that’s not supposed to be there show up in their back yard - their territory - and all hell breaks loose. Especially, I guess, another male dog being a supposed huge threat.

I know it’s only natural for dogs to defend their own territory from other dogs, and then there’s the protection factor - i.e., in their dog minds, they’re protecting me and Daisy and probably Lulu (even though she’s a grump) - but it makes me so mad and I was just furious with them and when they finally got some sense into their heads, they knew they were in trouble with the real pack leader (me), especially Dobie, who so knows better. I suspect Bruiser didn’t have much to do with any of it though I really can’t remember. Yet another episode that probably lasted less than a minute, though it seemed like an hour to me.

It’s just irritating. I know it’s natural, I know dogs are territorial animals, and as Say Uncle has recently reminded us all, dogs are natural fighters and natural killers.

And it’s not just dogs - many years ago, one of my cats shot out the front door to attack a feline interloper who had been bothering the next door neighbor’s kitten playing outside, and that was as vicious a fight as yesterday’s event. I have a scar on my shoulder from childhood, from picking up an indoor cat who was ready to kill another male cat standing outside growling on the other side of a sliding glass door. My cat’s claw went ALL the way into my shoulder and got stuck, and later I got my first tetanus shot.

In any case, historically, I seem to always be the biggest casualty in any cat or dog altercation. Maybe one of these days I’ll learn my lesson.

In the meantime, my finger aches like crazy. And it’s really hard when you’re right handed to put Band-Aids on correctly on your right hand with your left. Unless you’re ambidextrous, I guess.

So, welcome back to Jeez, This Blog is Turning Into a Drag Central again. Sorry, I seem to have misplaced my sense of humor temporarily. The Lynnster Zone, Your Daily Dose of Blah.

Today I got four whole hours of sleep, which is certainly more than I’ve had at one time in the past two weeks, so that was good. Except I would have really liked to have stayed in (my very warm) bed for a few more hours, seeing as how it was my day off. But nope, there were vehicle matters to be attended to, so I rose to greet the day with hope and a halfway decent night’s sleep behind me.

So about those car matters. Dead Vehicle #1, the one that conked out last weekend, remains where the tow truck left it in front of my house. It’s older and has needed much more work besides just the known popped drive belt, so the logical decision was to get Dead Vehicle #2, the newer, in for quick repair.

It was thought - keyword there being THOUGHT - that all Dead Vehicle #2 needed was a new battery. Got the battery jumped off, drove it to the auto place. Battery and some other general maintenance, winterizing, and tire rotation (and airing up since DV#2 had two near-flats) planned. It was noonish. Estimated time of departure: 2 p.m. Which would have given me the rest of the afternoon to take Dead (and Expired Registration) Vehicle #2 through inspection, and then to the clerk’s office to pick up new tags & plate.

Well, first of all, don’t know why I didn’t expect the monkey wrench to fall in my lap anyway. Because it always does. It shouldn’t have been unexpected. I am not a pessimist, I’m just a realist. If something can possibly go wrong and I’m involved, it most likely always will.

Oh no, DV#2 doesn’t JUST need a new battery (might not even really need one, but it has been a while). DV#2 has an electrical short. That is going to require DV#2 to be towed to another shop that does electrical repair since where it currently is doesn’t. Then, after however much money said tow and repair will cost, expected then No Longer Dead Vehicle #2 will return to Place #1 for the rest of what it was supposed to have done today.

So about 6:30 p.m. (my entire day off now pretty much having been spent in the waiting area at the auto shop), I walk a few blocks to Kroger because I have no food I want to have for dinner at the house. Then I walked a couple more blocks to Starbucks for a white mocha latte while I wait for the cab I called, since I decided not to walk the three or so miles home in the freezing damn cold and my not-as-bad-as-the-bad foot was hurting pretty bad anyway.

Funny thing about my feet. The bad one is the left one that I sprained horribly a little over three years and wish I had broken instead, because (as the doctor said at the time) it’s given me trouble ever since that it might not have if I’d broken it. But that one wasn’t acting up today. Instead, because I walk just wrong enough to compensate for the bad one, I have effectively now made the right foot probably worse than the bad left one as far as pain, swelling, and general yuckiness. But enough about my f’d up feet.

So now after having gotten home pretty late, spending most of the evening on the phone with my mom, my future mom-in-law, and my friend and former neighbor (who is doing much better, thanks) and generally getting nothing else I had planned today and tonight done… I think I’ll just finish catching up for the evening and soon crawl in bed since it’s like two degrees anyway. Soon anyhow.

At least I did almost finish Anthony Kiedis’ Scar Tissue while waiting around the car shop, after having started reading it, I don’t know, nine or ten months ago. That wasn’t exactly the accomplishment I had planned today, but I guess it’s one.

Well, tune in tomorrow, it can probably only get worse…

If you get a chance tonight or in the morning, hop over to Secret Cables and give nashgirl some encouragement towards her making another effort to give blood tomorrow. I know just how she feels, and I think it’s awesome she wants to try again and wants to help.

I have only given blood twice in my life, and not only am I an extremely slow bleeder like she is - both times I passed out cold. I also accidentally tried to cut my hand off once, and the same thing happened.

You may say to yourself, “But Lynnster, I thought I read that you have worked in the medical field since you were 16 years old.” Indeed that is true. And I have even worked in two emergency rooms, including a busy one in south Nashville back in the late ’80s. That’s why this story’s even more crazy.

And ironically, the first time I gave blood was when I was a senior in high school as well, back four million years ago. The Beta Club at my school was sponsoring a blood drive, and pretty much all of us who were 18 and eligible signed up to give. They had assigned a time for each of the givers, and I just happened to wind up the first one on the list.

So the morning came, and we were all lined up by our assigned times in the gym. I was #1, and a boy in my class who had not only the biggest (size 14) feet in class but the entire school - we’ll call him Bigfoot (don’t get excited, Newscoma) - was #2. Bigfoot and I went thru all the usual registration rigamarole they do when it’s your first time, and then were sent to the other side of the gym to take our places on the lounge chairs they had set up.

So they stick me, and I commence to bleeding. A girl in my class who was in the Beta Club was parked next to me as a “watcher”, and we were just hanging out there chatting about whatever.

She told me, later, that I was in the middle of a sentence and suddenly, my head just went down - thunk! - on my chest. I was out like a light.

It gets better. Bigfoot, in the next lounge chair over, passed out just seconds after I did. And not only that, but he went into mild convulsions as well. Rad!

I don’t know how many of the other seniors standing waiting in line turned around and walked out of the gym at that moment. I know there were a few. When I came to, it was like I’d been asleep for half a day, though I was only out for a minute or two. And I felt fine. It did take forever for me to fill the bag, but I did eventually finish bleeding.

Not sure whether Bigfoot stuck out the rest of the day or not or went home. He was still out when I came to, and there was the convulsions thing.

I would have chalked that experience up to the possibility of it having been the first thing in the morning, and I wasn’t a big breakfast eater, and that being why I passed out. But then I tried to give blood again about five years later.

The Freeloader Ex and I were living together at the time, and he was waiting tables for a living and would go give blood or plasma any chance he got, because over at the University blood center they’d pay for blood, and the plasma center paid for plasma. One day I was off work and he was going to go give blood, so I decided I would too.

Once again, it was taking forever for them to take mine. He got through, and I’d barely started. He waited around a few more minutes, and then decided he’d go outside and smoke, since it was taking me so long.

When he finished and walked back in, he about had a heart attack. Not only had I passed out again, but I had started going into convulsions this time, and the nurses were furiously trying to bring me back. And what was really freaking him out was, he said, my lips had turned blue.

Of course, I was eventually conscious again and all was well, but I didn’t feel so good this time. And there wasn’t any obvious reason for it to have happened, I’d eaten lunch, wasn’t dehydrated, none of those things.

A year or so later, Freeloader Ex and I are at home watching TV with one of our best friends, who just happened to be staying here with us and living in our guest room at the time. That best friend just happened to be the fella now known here nowadays as The Edge, nowadays known as my current better half. Yeah, I know, funny how things turn out.

I was trying to get one of those annoying plastic wrapped packages open, and had gotten out an X-Acto blade to try to get the stupid thing open. It wasn’t cooperating.

In fact, it wasn’t cooperating so much that the next thing I knew, the blade slipped and stuck itself way down deep in the lower part of the palm of my hand. Oops. And ouch.

I was rather oddly calm sitting there watching blood pour out of the wound. I didn’t seem to be bleeding all that slowly this time.

I tapped Freeloader Ex, sitting next to me on the couch, on the shoulder. “What?” he said as he turned around. And then he looked down at my outstretched hand, his eyes nearly popped out of his head, and panic set in.

Not really sure why he did this first part, but first he led me to the bathroom and held my bleeding hand over the toilet. Then (also inexplicably since yeah, we did have a bathroom sink) he led me to the kitchen, turned the cold water on, and held my hand under the water.

I think I was saying something like it didn’t really hurt that much when - they told me later - I went down and basically just melted into the floor, crumpled in a ball.

Once again, I was only unconscious for seconds, maybe a full minute at best. When I came to, the two guys were carrying me to the couch - The Edge had my feet, Freeloader Ex dragging me from under my arms. Sat me down, propped my feet up. Did probably a hundred things they thought might make me better, the only one of which I remember now was The Edge making me drink a Coke (a regular Coke) with sugar added to it.

What I remember about THEM was their faces were whiter than sheets and more drained than mine, it completely freaked them out. And they fussed and fussed over me for hours until they seemed satisfied I wasn’t going to fall over and die any second. Well, after we’d stopped the bleeding, which we did. I still have a nice little scar there.

So yep, medical person with nearly 25 years experience here, and quite a bit of experience working in the ER. And I apparently can’t stand the sight of my own blood, or at least not more than a little.

Now, I can watch anyone else bleed all day, and have seen plenty of it in the ER for sure. I can watch you have surgery (though I draw the line at brain surgery - brains are gross). Nooooo problem.

But when it comes to my own, nope, apparently not.

I keep thinking I might try to go give blood again one of these days, just to see what’ll happen this time. Stay tuned, I’ll certainly let you know if I do.

Oops sorry, I’ve been soooo freakin’ swamped, so much so that I have fallen into this habit lately of literally falling asleep sitting straight up at the computer, on a whole lot of occasions after the main workday is thru. I am working the equivalent of about five different jobs right now and I am just absolutely exhausted. Apologies.

I think I forgot to mention that in the summer of 2003, I almost broke my foot, but didn’t break it - just sprained it badly instead - and consequently I wish to god I’d just broken the damn thing now ‘cos almost two years later it still hurts ALL THE TIME. A lot of walking aggravates it very nicely but I don’t even have to do that, don’t have to do ANYTHING. What happened was I was walking very quickly across the back yard and stepped in a hole and fell, twisting it as I went down. It is a fair piece from there to my back door and for a while it was rather questionable whether I was going to make it back there or not, for a while I thought my neighbor might find me lying there still writhing in pain some nine or ten hours later when he returned home from work. You have rarely seen skin turn so many different colors but the predominant ones were black and purple, top and bottom of foot both. It got so bad that I, who have always worked for doctors but don’t GO to them - the very idea - broke down and went that very afternoon. The doc looked at it and before he sent me for the x-ray he said, “Well, if it’s not broken, I think you got about as close as you could to breaking it and I think you’re going to wish you had.” Boy, was that an understatement. It wasn’t but close enough and I wound up in one of those removable casts for weeks, but the biggest problem with the removable cast was that most of the pain was in the TOP of my foot - right where most of that part of the cast’s pressure was. So that didn’t last long, after a few weeks I was over that and decided I’d rather struggle with it moving around than deal with the pain inflicted by that cast. He also wanted to send me to physical therapy, which I didn’t do, but even he admitted it probably wouldn’t help much and I’d already done far more than I normally would by even seeing a doctor. So hobble along on my own I did. I have had a few brief periods of respite but mostly it just hurts like a… yeah, that. And like I said I don’t have to do anything. Lie in bed and it just throbs. I’m about to the point where I have half a mind to break it on purpose and see if it will FINALLY stop torturing me eventually - I feel sure that is not a cure and would probably just make things worse tho. Even better, now the OTHER foot hurts all the time too because I walk funny - not noticeably but not right - because of the bum foot. Yeah, my body has been falling apart steadily since I turned thirty and this has just really exacerbated the degeneration. If I make it to forty only lame and deaf and without my teeth all having fallen out (another story for another time! aren’t you excited) it’ll be a miracle I think.

I’m also a little worried ‘cos I keep catching myself doing REALLY strange stuff, like the other day I was bopping around the house straightening up or something (limping, of course) and I all of a sudden realized that for about the last thirty minutes I had been walking around humming the Bay City Rollers’ “Rock & Roll Love Letter”. Then tonight I was putting up groceries when it suddenly dawned on me that I had been whistling Foghat’s “Free Ride” the whole time. Help, I would appear to be stuck in my least favorite decade of all time. I’m afraid it might be disco next or something…

Hey, if you’ve not dropped by here in a while check out March 2005 since those were the first new entries in a long while and there’s lots of stuff on there in catching up the last two years. If I ever stop burning the proverbial candle at four hundred thousand different ends I might update here again soon. ’til then, as R.B. used to say be easy, and if you can’t be easy be slow…

OK, you know what? It’s cold. I am freezing my tail off. It’s supposed to warm up a bit tomorrow and so I decided since I’ve got to get out and do some stuff tomorrow anyway I’d just put off all the things I need to do around town ’til then. Thus, as soon as I get all this pending Web stuff uploaded and stuff, I intend to curl up with a good book, which will undoubtably make me go straight to sleep, and hopefully get up before four in the afternoon tomorrow. Errands to run, vintage Barbie stuff to seek out at my favorite little haunt across the river in Arkansas, and other chores… I figure the only thing I am dangerously on the verge of maybe running out of before Saturday night is cat food, and don’t think I will, so I’m going to curl up, drink a bunch of Bailey’s & coffee (I also received a new bottle of Bailey’s for Xmas this year so I don’t have to be so stingy with the other one, yeeha, thanks Troy & Andra), and try to stay warm. OK. Brrrrr.

There’s been much discussion among the AW camp lately about various and sundry musical influences and other such stuff, lately we have been “re-discovering” some old stuff, like the previously mentioned Cheap Trick remasters as well as many more, and nodding our heads and saying really highly intelligent things to each other like, “Well yeah” and “Oh so that’s where that came from” and other highly insightful things such. (I think I will start a Memphis chapter of Mensa for Musicians…)

Anyhow, with all the Trick nostalgia lately I was thinking, you know the musical influences spread far and wide (and certainly includes Robin Zander and Rick Nielsen!) but my biggest musical influence, by far, would be my dad, as that’s exactly where I get the musical, uh, sickness from. I am ever grateful for that… I was exposed to so much cool stuff at such a very young age and, while I suppose I would have more money were it not for the musical sickness and certainly wouldn’t have to always be finding a place in the house for all the stuff I have to go - that great big CD rack that was less than half full for a long time is now, ugh, almost full - what I have musically, materially or otherwise, is worth more than any money I’ve lost to record stores and music stores all over the world. I dug some of my dad’s music and tolerated some of the rest, and, in turn, he dug some of mine and tolerated, with an unending supply of patience, the rest. We’ve always had a mutual respect for each other on that level, which I in turn share with many of my friends and former friends - we may not like all of each other’s music, but we appreciate each other’s huge appreciation of it, and vice versa. Does that make sense?

I dunno, I was just thinking during one of those recent long drives that it was kinda cool that there was never any generation gap musically there in my family - I grew up digging Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis, Chuck Berry, Eddie Cochran, Little Richard, Gene Vincent… in turn, my dad, being a drummer, always thought Mick Fleetwood, Bev Bevan of ELO, Bun E. Carlos of Cheap Trick, Charlie Watts, and Keith Moon were awesome drummers. I don’t know - and there’s really no point to this - I just thought that was kinda cool.

Anyway… you non-musically-inclined folk and anyone else are welcome to skip this paragraph as it won’t be interesting in the least… I’ve been scribbling on pieces of paper I can’t read now and Josie, Greg and I have been exchanging one sentence e-mails (”How about this - (insert whatever here)”) and have just about come up with a list for what’s supposed to be a kinda quiet but a little noise allowed semi-acoustic set (maybe bass and Jo’s drums too, no less, but basically unplugged), however right now it’s a little heavy on Lemonheads and light otherwise… all suggestions and revisions welcome. For the moment it looks like, or at least what I can read in my own handwriting, in no particular order: Trail of Tears and Sleepers Awake (Guadalcanal Diary); If I Could Talk I’d Tell You, The Great Big No, It’s A Shame About Ray, Mrs. Robinson, Into Your Arms, and Frank Mills, (Lemonheads, god bless Evan Dando); Feed The Tree (Belly); Wonderwall (Oasis); September Gurls (Big Star); House of the Rising Sun (The Animals); Until I Fall Away, Mrs. Rita, and Allison Road (Gin Blossoms); Drive, Cuyahoga, and Try Not To Breathe (R.E.M.); As Tears Go By, Wild Horses, and Angie (Stones); The Brown Song (Martini Age); It’s Too Slow, Death Defying and Heart of Darkness (Hoodoo Gurus); Hey Joe (Hendrix); Your Ghost (Kristin Hersh); Behind Blue Eyes (The Who); Late At Night (Buffalo Tom); Horseshoes (Moxy Fruvous); Shivers (Birthday Party); This Very Second (Bill Lloyd); Misfits, Sleepwalker, and Celluloid Heroes (The Kinks); Dover Beach (Bangles); The Door Into Summer (The Monkees); If You Could Only See (Tonic); Swingin Party and Here Comes A Regular (Replacements); Voices and Downed (Cheap Trick); Song For Liars and We Don’t Care (dig); Alive (Pearl Jam); maybe a couple or three originals; and I guess no Clash ending since that just sounds crappy without being plugged in. It sounds like a lot but some of those are really short it’s like two for one. Basically the idea is starting out quietish then as things progress, dinner’s over, and everyone starts getting really drunk the volume gets upped. Revision suggestions (as well as requests from those who will be in attendance) are welcome, except for KC who is not allowed to bitch about “enough of the freaking Lemonheads”…

Speaking of handwriting, one of my ultimate goals for the year is to write letters to everyone I owe, some I’ve owed for many years now!, letters to… these are things I’ve put off and put off and put off again, and I really must, but lord, it would all be so much easier if everyone I knew was online. Well, then again, then I’d probably owe them e-mail like I do everyone else, but honestly, I can’t even stand to pick up a pen and paper anymore. Once upon a time I had perfect beautiful precise and perfect handwriting, and I could write ten page letters, no prob. Now I can’t even read my own handwriting it’s so pitiful.

And oh hey, that big bad boy of a blister’s gone and completely healed up… surgical topical anesthesia and little needles and scalpels work wonders. So anyway, til later…

Well, I had good intentions anyway… I was going to update a whole bunch of pages on the site Wednesday night, mainly in the Bands and related sections, and actually did start doing some, but had to stop because I had the biggest most painful blister on one finger I’ve ever seen and typing was making it hurt much, much worse, that sucker was huge. You wouldn’t think one single solitary blister would make one feel all over that bad and you wouldn’t think just tapping on the keys of a computer keyboard occasionally would be so tremendously painful but my god, it was, I just had to stop what I was doing and go to bed.

This will hopefully teach me a bit of a lesson as what happened was that I played guitar Tuesday night for the first time in, I dunno, a couple of months or so anyhow ‘cos I’ve been so busy otherwise, so not only does practice make perfect but practice keeps blisters the size of the state of New Hampshire off one’s fingers I suppose.

At the point where I stopped what I’d been doing with web pages, I would have just about as soon amputated the hand (luckily the left… but read on for news about the right hand). And, anyone who’s ever seen me type knows how fast I type, do you have any idea how hard it is to try to avoid not typing with one of your fingers? Eventually I just gave up and went to bed in agony.

So, lucky me I work for a surgeon, and spent part of yesterday morning spraying my fingertip with Cetacaine and poking holes in the blister with a needle, which probably wasn’t good for it but certainly better than me popping the thing wide open and actually maybe it was good for it since it’s almost healed up now, not even 24 hours later yet. I really do have to stop being lazy playing and get back to normal as not only do the guys and I have an acoustic gig coming up pretty soon but the annual birthday party for all the coolest people, who are, of course, the cool people born in March, is coming up fast on the horizon as well and I am currently in no condition to be able to play for eight or nine hours until sunup as is always required. (giggle) Seeing as how lately my hands are falling asleep all the time I may be useless anyhow but hey, you know, anything for the sake of music right? (snicker) Since the boys will let me play in public now I’m not about to let any silly carpal tunnel BS ruin my fun.

To top all of this off, last weekend I accidentally slammed my right hand in a (very heavy) door and got yet another finger - wouldn’t you know it’d be the index finger of my right hand and I’m right-handed - really good. It finally is no longer purple and as big as my thumb.

Then we have the weird recently-acquired ailment in my right arm - which began after carrying all that luggage thru the airport at Christmas - which I have just had to learn to live with, but at its peak of agony I tried to squeeze the trigger on a spray bottle of household cleaner and couldn’t. Better now, but with all that plus the recent sprained ankle (which I still don’t know how, where or when I did that) and some other really odd aches and pains lately, I’m just like, what’s next??? I’m telling you younger folks, you hit 30 and it all falls apart, it really does!! Something to look forward to.

I never had any problems like that before I turned 30, save for chronic sore throats and whacking out my tonsils 10 years ago took care of that. My mother thinks I’m too old to have kids, my grandmother cracks jokes about my age, and I’m falling apart, I give up.

So anyway…. well, I had a bunch of other stuff but spent too much time this evening doing some major updating overhaul of many pages, none of which are up yet because it’s too late for me to deal with uploading them, so this weekend sometime, I’m sure, along with more graffiti and no musculoskeletal system issues hopefully (I shouldn’t have said that, now I’ll probably slam the car door on my foot in the morning or something worse…). I have a three-day weekend and god knows I need it.

So ’til later, I am your tired, crabby, broken, yet still happily skipping along the garden path of life and snickering sarcastically all the while - and much in need of just one decent night’s sleep!

Well, the Zone is pretty much like, oh, I don’t know… the desert maybe?… of late, and for that I apologize… ’tis a desolate place in more ways than one and I’m too lazy to update much of anything lately. Offline life is really not a shade much better.

This weekend was certainly one of the more unproductive weekends in history… my dishes aren’t done, my lawn’s not mowed, my dogs aren’t washed, nor are a number of other things that must be done and soon. I’ve got like a little over a month to get some warranty work done on my car, I’m late for the dentist and the vet this year, and everything’s in pretty much a mess at the moment… except my house, which is surprisingly and frightfully clean, wow. I have also just recently, and in retrospect rather dumbly, agreed to take on some extra work again which was probably a really stupid idea, but I suppose my checkbook will thank me later… and that, of course, will mean even less time to goof off on the computer. But at the moment being busy will probably be a godsend, the less time I have to hang around the house doing nothing the better. (Which means, no, there’s no news.)

As for my unproductive weekend, well, I watched Meet Joe Black at some point, which kept me in yet another state of Brad Pitt-induced euphoria for a few hours (drool…). Thought about mowing, thought about doing dishes, thought about washing dogs, didn’t do any of it, played guitar with Greggie instead, heh. He came down on Sunday (it would appear I am being babysat again and no, I am not oblivious to that fact, fellas… although I am not really complaining, better Greg than KC, KC would have made me mow the yard and do the dishes…). We eked out a little Big Star (“December boys got it bad…”) and some old Cheap Trick (“You didn’t know what you were looking for ’til you heard the voices in your ear…”), among some old standards, and had much fun.

We also tried to figure out what’s wrong with my left foot as my toes look all weird and for several weeks now it’s occasionally been feeling like I dropped a concrete block on it or something, comes and goes and this weekend it came back with a vengeance… in other words, I was crippled most of the weekend, another good reason not to mow the yard!! So there!!! (And yup, I can talk real big from this side of the Atlantic… snicker.) So anyway, Greg pronounced me “basically okay and still short”, so the rest of you worrywarts can stop making him drive to Memphis every week to check up on me since I know that’s what you’re doing. :P

Nothing much else to report, so I’m going to stop for now while I’m feeling rather calm and agreeable and before the mood swings again, or I might be tempted to start verbally ripping people to shreds just ‘cos I feel like picking a fight for the sheer pleasure of it, and boy, has that temptation been huge in recent weeks, so I’ll just, like, retract the fangs and can the venom, because, you know, it just ain’t worth it. I’ll probably get really drunk sometime in the near future and just spit poison all over the place (KC to Greg RE: me about a week or so ago: “If she gets mad, for god’s sake just keep her away from her computer!!” Snicker…), but for the time being the simple fact is the objects of my derision aren’t worth one iota of web space, which is what I keep reminding myself of every time I get good and p.o.’d again.

So, gotta go - but oh, yeah, the flowers! Thanks to my buddy Jimm in Sydney for the spiffy cheery springy flower thingy! And thanks to everyone else, you know who you are, and thanks to those who have been very understanding and patient the last few weeks. It’s always nice to be reminded of whom your real friends are and I luv each and every one of you and now I’m really going to go before I get all sniffy and stuff… (giggle) Peace, luv & Gurus!

Ah, finally I am beginning to feel like a normal human being again. So, what exactly happened to me last week, you ask? Well, I’ll tell ya… mainly because I don’t want to repeat this story over and over again a hundred times in e-mail, phone, etc.

OK, starting from the beginning… my mother was on a business trip in Miami and the night she arrived, as she and her colleagues were coming back from dinner, she tripped over one of those concrete parking lot barriers and broke her wrist, bigtime, spent all night in the ER, you can do the math on that part. Well, she ended up staying in Miami for the next three days and completing her duties there… they couldn’t have done what they needed to down there anyway as far as surgery (well, technically they could have, but she certainly couldn’t be staying down there for weeks). Luckily this was her left arm, as she and I are both right-handed and boy wouldn’t that have sucked.

Anyhow, via friends of the family we had arranged for her to see a doctor back home and have what we thought would be fairly minor, no big deal, surgery, on Thursday last week, the morning after she was to arrive back in Nashville. There was some discussion between her and me over the course of the early part of the week about whether she could drive her car home from the airport or not - most unfortunately, this just happened to be one of the few times she flew out of Nashville instead of Memphis (oh thank you to my faaavorite airline, Northwest, for jacking up prices so high