The Burrow

I showed up right on time for my COVID and flu shots. Last time I got them both at once and had no reaction.  Foolishly,  I thought the past was prologue. Unfortunately,  they only sent the full strength, not the extra strength flu vaccines, to my Albertsons' pharmacy.  Being of advanced age,  the pharmacist and I agreed that I should search elsewhere for the more powerful dose.  I didn't care which arm he used.  I was offered Pfizer but asked for the Moderna version, again, foolishly thinking I'd be okay.  The needle was undetectable.  I didn't feel anything when the serum went in. I spent the afternoon waving my arm around to distribute the vaccine and keep it from getting stuck in my tricep. I felt fine until I didn't.  Sleep was elusive.  My digestion was carrying on a somewhat disturbing conversation with itself. By 7am I gave up and sat up and wished I hadn't.  Malaise.  Generalized yukkiness. A slow, dull, rhythmic ...

For the first time since my nose Mohs  situation began a week ago,  I wasn't visually impaired when I rolled out of bed this morning.  My left eye was a functional source of information in all directions.   For the first time in a week, I don't have to see over or around the swelling.  Now I can see the keyboard without constantly readjusting my position, and I had a rather full day, at last. I tackled the garage and have reduced one pile to 2 large boxes containing several years worth of  Stroll and Roll t-shirts.  The holiday decorations are sorted into temporary containers, on their way to permanent places in the closets lining the walls.  The kids' toys are still in the dining room, awaiting their return to those same closets.  Preparing those closets will have to wait for another day. I decided that my face could be seen in public, so we went to lunch with TBG's girlfriends .  I put in another stint sorting and organizing...

The theme may have been Vote Early, but the posters were still on the same subject.   She and a colleague came with only their stoles and smiles.  There were lots of extra signs, though. Some signs were thrown together that morning.  Others were retreads from No Kings gone by. I'm not sure about the mixed messaging here (does McD's have pudding?) nor do I know what is in his left hand. He just smiled and smiled at everyone. The crowd was much younger, at least when I was there at the start. So true. My favorite: I was there for an hour or so, representing all of you who couldn't join in the fun.  90% of the cars passing by honked in support. Fingers crossed.  

Fixing the men who thought being 7th in line for a gang rape would be fun is something best left to others.  I cannot imagine their home lives, the parenting they received, the friends they chose.  There's a lack of decency there that I can't remember being around, anywhere, any time.   I've been scrutinizing my past.  I'm wondering if there were signs I overlooked, signals I missed.  Was the neighborhood's naughty boy  reacting to his closeted older brother or his cold and forbidding parents?  What did he grow up to be? The houses on our street were built all at once and inhabited all at once by young families with small children.  We grew up together, playing across our front and back yards, waiting at the bus stop, sledding down the steepest driveway (ours).  Within that group there was no bullying, no feuding, no harassment... or was it there and I just didn't notice? I'd never been warned to look.  My parents protected us from ...

I'm tired, because I have to sleep with my head elevated and not on my sutured side, which is my preferred side.  Fitful describes it best. I'm itchy because that's what healing feels like.  Knowing that doesn't help much. My bandage is smaller and the swollen area around my eyes has mutated from fire engine red to a soft rosy glow.   My lips are still doing their Donald Duck imitation.  TBG has me doing mouth exercises to counter the effect.  It makes us laugh and sometimes seems to make difference. With big, black, dark sunglasses I ventured out to the store and lunch with TBG.  The restaurant was dark, I wore my glasses in the store, and as far as I could tell no one was totally disgusted by my appearance. I have two places to go for solace. One, is Ogden Nash:           My face, I don't mind it           B ecause I'm behind it.          It's the people out front th...

Typing through swollen eyes and a potato on my face to say that the Mohs surgery was successfu.  The stitching was necessary and I somehow never got the memo.  Thanks for the love.  I'm going to ice my face.