No, no, no, I am simply not ready to blog tonite. However, I have been getting unsettling email inquiries from friends who keep tabs on my blog as a method of determining whether or not I am still alive and perambulating, so I feel strongly that at least a non-blog is in order.
First, let me assure all and sundry that I am still both alive and schlepping around....in fact, perhaps a bit more than I would prefer , if I had my druthers. It is a long, fercockta story invlving much moving of furniture and I will undoubtedly tell it to you in excruciating and revolting detail.....just not tonite, dollinks. Do not despair....it will be sooner rather than later.
It might have been tonite, but I am tired after a day requiring a trip to the Doctor (yes, yet another one) brought on by my incredible stupidity in allowing my kitty to bite thru my finger while I was attempting to give her some medicine. Of COURSE I know better, but I was so damned close to getting the dose down her throat that my zeal overcame my sense of pain and sense in general. Fortunately, no great damage was done but in viewing the glowing and swollen member I decided that I should have an expert opinion on how long I might have to live. It turns out that washing a sink full of cat dishes in hot water last night was the best thing I could have done for my wound and I was dispatched to repeat the soaking in hot salt water throughout the day. Oy. Sigh. My Mother did not raise me to be quite this much of an idiot. How did I possibly manage this all by myself?
The New Yorker covers: March 17, 1934
7 hours ago