Vacation.....sort of.

So T and I went off to the fortress of solitude for four days, ending last night.

One would think it would have been quiet, uneventful, and relaxing.

Then that one person would realize that it is me we are talking about here, and I will only relax under the influence of coma-inducing drugs, and that's even questionable.

We did have a nice time, however.

I finished my first knitted sock, which, it would seem, makes me a 'real' knitter as well as a much larger dork than I knew. I am just over half way done with the second one....and then I will knit for the babies. (I'm not making them anything they can wear now anyway, plus, after the present hysteria clams down some when everyone gets used to the baby......That's when I will strike.)

We kind of threw our diet out the window this week, which was counterproductive as well as delicious. Ahhh. I did try to stay on track, and then I ate 5 peanut butter cookies.

We took my friend A (not T's sister A, my old coworker....So confusing) out bowling for the anniversary (I shant say which one) of his 29th birthday. A bowls. A lot. He knows what he is doing, he loves it, he does it all the time. He has jewelry and coats with '300' on it--and I assume you all know that has nothing to do with Frank Miller. (Oh, but if he made a bowling novel....)

I do not bowl. Sure, I knock things over all the time, I rock that that. But doing that shit on purpose? Not a chance. Me, hurling a sphere of 10 pounds in weight down a wooden hallway with the intention of knocking shit over? It's not pretty.

But we had fun, and I convinced A to come back to my house and cook me breakfast the next day, because I rock and am not above guilt tripping people circa their dates of birth.

The next day was the anniversary of my dad's death. (See guilt trip reference above.) I really just wanted to spend it quietly, eating homemade eggs benedict (Yeah, the diet was pretty much forgotten at this point. Bereavement eating, I tell you.), knit, and watch television.

My mother put a quick stop to that, as I'm sure none of you are surprised to hear.

It would seem that my mother has broken her shoulder. She seems to think that she broke her shoulder six years ago, and is just now suffering the consequences. She has been to at least 5 orthopedic doc. appointments, and none of them (!) ever picked up on it. I tried to explain to her that is physically impossible to have a broken bone for six years. She's not listening.

She is, however, enjoying the benefits of an unlimited prescription of Vicodin.

She told me it upset her stomach. (My mom has a long, long history of stomach issues. She nearly died a few years ago from internal bleeding from not eating anything, drinking super heavy, and taking aspirin and ibuprofen like it was candy. She has now reached the state of alcoholism where her diaphragm is swollen and engorged, along with the lining of her stomach, and so any 'hiccup' style movement of the tummy causes her to vomit. This can lead to rupturing one of the blood vessels in the diaphragm/tummy area, and cause her to bleed out quicker than she could be saved. This sounds like a recipe for an unlimited script of vikes to me.)
I asked her if she told the doctor about her stomach problems. (Of course not.) I told her that there are pain meds out there that don't upset your stomach like that, that if she would just tell the doctors about her medical history she would be fine.

She yelled at me, called me a hypocrite (I'm not sure how that applies.) and then asked me how my vacation was going.

I got off the phone and took a nap.

She called again, and again, but it doesn't matter.

At least she took my mind off of being sad.