So we�re back to this--I have reinjured my back, days after a clean bill of health from the PT and instructions on how to strengthen the scar tissue to prevent future injury. Now I�m toting my stupid lumbar support everywhere and listing a bit as I walk.
I didn�t go to the interview yesterday. This I believe to be a sign of maturity and sense, however. I officially withdrew myself from the running via a voice mail message. I�m not desperate�there�s no need to move for a contract gig. Not when I�m having so much fun in the new place.
But back to the facts�perhaps there�s a bit too much fun being had. I didn�t go anywhere yesterday; I am sick. Sore throat, pounding head and sad nose indicate more at work than just allergies and asthma, so I picked up my Puffs Plus at the Osco this morning, and maybe it�s all the medication (can I take allergy meds and cold relief meds?), but I swear the elderly woman at the checkout was wearing some sort of homemade hat fashioned of plastic and white and red yarn. Maybe sequins or flowers, too, but I�m not sure. It was early and I was woozy. It�s impolite to stare. I kept my eyes averted, muttered my gratitude and kept moving.
What led to this decline into illness? Jeremy is now 27, and don�t let him tell you otherwise. I think he had a good time. We tried to put the pieces together over lunch Saturday afternoon--a nice meal of cheese, beans, water and lots of party girl remorse.
I believe we drank for 10 hours at various C-U locations, starting with margaritas, then to martinis, followed with mucho beer. Luckily I had the sense to drop my car off at home and walk, at some point. I should probably apologize to the downstairs neighbor for the impromptu porch party, too. I enjoy having company, but perhaps we can all agree the 3 am - 5 am period isn�t ideal.
Poor Fuzzy J had a rough time of it, too. He was polite to the late night visitors, but he was not impressed with me the next morning. Poor thing desperately missed his 7 am breakfast, so much so that he managed to get his snack bag off the pantry shelves and drag it into my bedroom, as if to show me exactly what it was he needed. The messages don�t get any clearer than that. When he failed to rouse me, he tried to bite through the bag and get at the food. So when I woke up that afternoon, his treats were the first thing I saw. He simply seemed relieved to see me moving and bore no ill will, but oh, the guilt.
The guilt was only worsened when he bungled the little treat I tried to give him yesterday. After sleeping for the better part of 3 days, I finally woke up, walked, bathed and decided to finish Lucky Girls out on the porch. I thought it would be nice for Fuzzman to get outdoors, too, so on with the harness and leash. I hooked the leash around one of the legs of the bench, ensuring he couldn�t get far. He was a doll, watching dogs go buy, talking to an angry bird in the tree above him. I was into the book. Then I saw a flash of fur go over the side of the porch, so I leapt over the side after him. He�d wriggled out of the bottom part of the harness and was hanging by the neck for a second or two before I tossed him back up, hearing a slight gagging sound. He was utterly freaked out, but breathing just fine, and I was furious. I removed the collar part and tossed him indoors, going back to the book to cool off. By the time I headed back upstairs, he was sweet and lovey and asking for supper. Perhaps we both learned a lesson from the weekend.
I�m not sure. It�s time for PT. Maybe AA wouldn�t be a bad idea.