Nothing�s gonna stop me from seeing Wayne Hancock tomorrow night, so long as I can find some cash in the sofa. So long as I can get off the sofa.
So yeah. I�ve diagnosed my own ailments and am determined to cure myself, since the lovely HMO-approved doctors can�t really fit me in until April of 2004. Great idea, eh? Last weekend I came up with the crackpot theory that my knees are shot to hell simply because of those lovely high-heeled boots I fancy wearing, so they�ve been off limits this week, and I�m swinging my legs about randomly, thinking it�s strengthening the muscles. I do feel better. Huh. Not so lucky on the heating pad hat part as yet, but if you�re willing to take a chance, my appointment calendar is open. If you�re too busy, I�d just prescribe some generic Theraflu and 2 sets of 10 jumping jacks.
Sometimes I daydream of giant hypodermic needles, with which I would inject whatever�s needed at the moment�muscle relaxants, morphine, etc.
Still I wonder why we don�t have young folk with nicknames like Hoss, Shorty, Skip, Porky, etc. Where did all the good nicknames go?