...nothing here is promised, not one day... Lin-Manuel Miranda

What was THAT?
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Mixed, very very mixed

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I'd love to have something intelligent to write about this morning but I've been under attack by the "what the fucks" the last couple of days so just some brief thoughts.

First some positive comments on people doing well:

If they really checked Lance Armstrong out, would they really find flesh and blood or little whirring motors? The guy is asTOUNding. He'd be astounding if he hadn't had serious cancer treatments and survived all sorts of stuff but after surviving testicular, brain and what, lung? Cancer? Are we sure he's human? What an awesome athlete. He does better riding his bike in the mountains than on the flats, gets stronger as the three week Tour de France goes on, and still gives the day's victory to other cyclists along the way. Whirr, whirr, whirr… No truly I think the guy is wonderful and amazing.

CJ reports that Barbara (Seranella if you're new here) has not only been awake and conscious but able to write. She's still in ICU and on assisted breathing but that sounds like it will change very soon. Holy shit - how many times did I think this was just not gonna end well? She's far from fine, but this is farther than I think most of us thought she would get.

And I just learned that my long-time friend, mentor, teacher Bill Cibes is retiring. This was a shock for two reasons. One is, well, my friends don't retire, don't be silly, they're not old enough. Who me, denial? But seriously, I thought Bill was like 5 years older than me which really is a little young for retirement; turns out he's 10 years older than me, according to the newspaper article my mother sent. 62, that's ridiculous, he can't be.

I was busy a good part of Friday, went out Saturday ("Bite of Seattle" yum) and went out Sunday. Somehow that became too much for me. I am beyond whiny wondering WHAT the hell caused me to spike a fever last night (two degrees, I know but I just don't GET fevers) AND get a migraine this morning. A stubborn one that took the max (that's 2 imitrex) to deal with. This sucks and I'd like someone else - say Karl Rove - to have all the icky things I have for a change (including some things I won't post about here because they're private and WAY too icky). I forget if I've said that I'm BACK on crutches with a flare-up in my right hip and I'm bloody exhausted (as is Stu). It's not nearly as bad as April's meltdown but I gotta say the effort is exhausting. The countless little things that get in the way - doors that swing back into your path, power cords that you can step around but that entangle your crutches, having to remember to wear clothes to bed because you need to get up in the middle of the night (and trust me, crutches naked is not a good idea). I'm not able to bend down well, which is way more of a hassle than you realize 'tll you can't bend down.

So like 5 points for everyone else this morning and none for me. I'm rereading Pratchett's WEE FREE MEN because I need a giggle. Pout.

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