Ready, set, panic!

I have all the stimuli (mostly) I will be using, my meetings with my advisor are going swell, and I need to step up my packing behaviour.

That being said...

I am having to sneak and feed the Eviljob colony; the old property manager moved to Tahiti to find himself, and Management took the opportunity to become asshats over tending the colony. So I have to get with the new property manager and re-get permission to feed and trap. Sigh. Always something.

I had surgery on Friday morning to de-endometriosis me again; I'm on Roxicet which I am supplementing with Tramadol, Cataflam, and wine. Meg drove me to and from, and I already feel better, though the damned Roxicet is wreaking havoc on my sleep schedule. Worse, over this long weekend, I have to tidy up a ten-page conference submission and prep a poster for a different conference. And my washing machine ate my favourite patchwork blanket. Boo.

This Guy is turning out to be a lump. When I was first scheduled for surgery, I offered to discuss what was going on -- asked him if he wanted to know -- and was met with a lightning-quick 'no'. Seems he's a little squeamish over surgeries and the like. He is really ringing all of my 'flake' bells; I am trying to not be harsh and negative, but his ex-wife is a nurse, and some fifteen years ago, he was in school with her to do the same, and working as a nursing aide (or so he claims). How in the crap can you be squeamish? I'm not even in the damned field, never worked a DAY as a medical anything (taking care of Mummers doesn't count), and just growing up as a doctor's daughter (and granddaughter) has ushered me into a life of bluntness and inappropriate dinner conversation. People barf, people shit, people have sucking chest wounds, eye trauma, DIC, and viscera that needs to be put back where they came from...that's Life.

This isn't the first time that I have questioned the veracity of some things. On the other hand, I have had the feeling that many people I have known throughout my life say more than their prayers, which has led me to wonder why I find all the looneybirds. I have seriously thought about this. Thoughte the Firste is that I somehow attract them...I wish I knew how. Other options I find less probable, such as the proposition that *everyone* has just as many nuts and liars in their life, I just notice it more. Since I have a hard time believing that, I'm going with the simplest explanation -- I attract them.

Butsoanyway.

I am drifting off to sleep again; I will have to finish later. For now, let's just say that I am hurt. He hasn't even asked me how the surgery went. He doesn't even know what it was for.

Oh, I'll vent later. Right now, I am falling asleep.









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