Am just popping in for a second tonight….the doc didn’t give any view re going back to work. Said to come back next week and to get some sleep (and increased the dose of sleep meds).
Guess no news is good news, right?
pic courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/stereopoly_axel/It was great here–sunny and not all that cold.
I took Zombieslayer’s advice and got a massage. And pedicure. And manicure. Never did any of those things before.
The massage was nice…but my back hurt before I went in and much worse after. It’s stopped hurting now. I think it’s from not warming up before doing my walking routine (daily).
The pedicure was heaven. Actually discovered a baby toe’s nail buried under cuticle. No am not kidding. The manicure was great too.
This took almost three hours, but it was worth it.
Not much else went on today, owing to the sore back.
Tomorrow am seeing the doc, who will pronounce the verdict on whether I”m actually going back to work on Feb. 8. Other than having acquired a noticeable eye twitch, isn’t much else to say (to her).
Wish me well, world. Even I don’t know whether I want to go back to work or not.
Yikes.
BJ
Prince Charles decided to take up jogging. Every day, he’d jog past a hooker standing on the same street corner. He learned to brace himself as he approached her for what was almost certain to follow.
‘One hundred and fifty pounds!’ she’d shout from the curb.
‘No! Five pounds!’ He would fire back, just to shut her up.
This ritual between him and the hooker became a daily occurrence.
He’d run by and she’d yell, ‘One hundred and Fifty Pounds!’
He’d yell back, ‘Five pounds!’
One day, Camilla decided that she wanted to accompany Charles on his jog. As the jogging couple neared the working woman’s street corner, Prince Charles realized she’d bark her 150 pound offer and Camilla would wonder what he’d really been doing on all his past outings.
He figured he’d better have a good explanation for his wife.
As they jogged into the turn that would take them past the corner, he became even more apprehensive than usual. Sure enough, there was the hooker.
He tried to avoid the prostitute’s eyes as she watched the pair jog past.
Then, from her corner, the hooker yelled, ‘See what you get for five pounds, you tight b*stard?!’
