Dancing in the streets!

Well, not quite, but damn close.

I go under the knife two weeks from today, Monday, May 13, 2013. Do you think I need to worry about the curse of Monday the 13th? Personally, I’m more worried about the surviving the 14 days before then.

The doctor said it is all pretty routine. He compared it to a root canal more than once. And you all know I love root canals! I am so looking forward to this. (Seriously, I am totally into this!)

One word of caution: as not all of my issues are traditional Carpal Tunnel indicators, it is possible I won’t feel total relief. But, the good doctor mentioned that with my family history of Carpal Tunnel and the fact that all my symptoms came on simultaneously, he is cautiously optimistic.

I, on the other hand, am over-the-top optimistic. Two more weeks and my living hell is over.

Join me in the streets!

Hmmm, thought I posted this a couple of days ago.

I would like to welcome the three latest entries to the nations of the world who have adopted marriage laws that do not discriminate against sexual minorities:

 France – hell, what took them so long.

 New Zealand – a first for the South Pacific.

Uruguay – South America is making North America look bad.

How I spent my afternoon vacation.

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Happy Earth Day!

Please tell me that you have hugged a tree today!

Don’t worry. Your spousal unit won’t be jealous. Contemplate for a moment: your spousal unit is jealous of you hugging a tree. Could this be a sign of deeper issues?

Oh, but when you start playing with the nuts, yeah, spousal unit has cause to be concerned!

Be good to Mother Earth!

Dream a little dream

I started taking Chantix a week before I quit smoking cigarettes, so I’ve been taking it for over six weeks now. (Hold the applause, hold the applause!) One of the side effects of Chantix is suppose to be crazy dreams. I’ve had a few good dreams, but sadly, they all center around cigarettes.


Take last night’s dream for instance…

A number of us, I’m not sure how many but a throng had gone to visit New York City. Doug, my ex from many, many years ago was there. I remember him, quite frankly because he was being a total jerk. I don’t know what I ever saw in him.

Jane, my beloved sister was there. I remember her, because she had used her last match 5 days ago, and had been force to chain smoke, lighting her new cigarette with the butt of her old one. Five days of constant smoking and no sleep doesn’t really work for you, Jane. Give it up.

Richard was there. I don’t really remember him, but he was there, I am sure.

Anyway, we all walked down to the Village to visit the Stonewall Inn, that bastion of gay rights. When we got there, the building had been torn down. Truthfully, the entire block had been razed and in its place was a big-ass, big-box store named, “Cigarettes-R-Us”. It was open 24/7/365. There were lines of people waiting to get in.

Do you think there is anything symbolic in the dream?

I think it is safe to say that I have not had a cigarette in 38 days, 21 hours, 7 minutes and 45 seconds. I think saying I am an ex-smoker might be crossing that thin line the separates reality from fantasy.

Hi!

I just walked into the piano room.

Does anyone have a fricking clue why I came in here?

Oh, and my appointment with the surgeon is on Apr 29. Everyone assumes the surgery would be successful, but I would really like to speak with the expert before I announce for sure. I don't get the sympathy vote often, and I want to milk every penny.

Oh, and Richard's biopsy (at least partial) is back: Non-small cell lung cancer. He has tests tomorrow that will determine the stage. And then we can begin planning our 'vacations'!

Fine, so the sympathy vote, once again, goes to Richard. Yeah, whatever.

Oh, oh, I remember... I came in the piano room to see if I left my cell phone in here. I didn't.

Good night, now.

Vindication is mine.

First, let me say that whoever dreamed up the “Nerve Conduction Test” should have a special spot in the halls of hell waiting for him/her. What a devilishly twisted little examination (s)he devised.

I should have been apprehensive when the clinician asked if I would like to visit the men’s room before we got started. And you would think that the eerie sound of Margaret Hamilton cackling in the next room would have raised my suspicions. But no, I was calm a cucumber when the doctor entered the room with his stun gun, a box of rusty needles and a laptop.

I'll just give you  highlights of the test: the good doctor zapped me with the taser again and again. Between each jolt, he would meticulously record the number of times my body flopped on the examination table like a fish out of water. When he grew bored with electro-shock therapy, he began his deviant version of acupuncture. I am still bleeding.

But, on the bright side (and this is where the vindication comes in), I have the worst case of Carpal Tunnel the doctor has ever seen!

I’M NUMBER ONE!!! I’M NUMBER ONE!!!