Thursday, March 23, 2006

tonight's dinner: steamed green beans, turnip, and carrots, homemade beef stew, homemade fries, and homemade french onion soup.

this is one reason why i'm content to stay in coquitlam awhile longer.

today in the waiting room i shared a mutual appreciation (love?) for q-tips. both of us agree, you just can't feel clean until the insides of your ears are clean too!

also also:
i never realised it before, but i have the Hot Doctor. kinda like george clooney or dr mcdreamy. difference is, i don't really care either way. but i overheard women gushing about how attractive he is not one, not two, but more than three times. i dunno. he's nice. he's young-ish. he's got bright sparkly eyes. but more importantly, he rescued my knee and my cartilidge. a couple times now. so that's why i like him.

(and i like the fact that everyone stumbles over his name, but it just rolls of my tongue. like butter. kinda like panago, but nicer!)

also also also:
i may like my surgeon. but i'm frustrated as all hell that i've got to stay on crutches for the next THREE (3) weeks. though i just had an epiphany in the shower: we've got barstools that never get used in the basement of the honey house. maybe i'll bring one up to the kitchen so's i can cook and eat right in there. it means potentially having to put up with a remarkably dirty eating space at times, but maybe (hopefully) the passive-aggressive leaving-the-stool-in-the-kitchen will be a bit of a reminder that lucky me, i can't carry my dishes elsewhere in the house to eat, so please leave me at least a bit of clean space!

or i can just stay at my mom's house some more. cuz as mentioned before, i will not eat better anywhere else in the world. for serious. now if only solo were here too.

goddamnit, though, i hate not being able to walk properly. anyone with crutch experience want to tell me how they keep their whole body from tilting sideways? cuz my posture's already going out of whack.

also also also also:
on the plus side, i have three more weeks to secretly pretend that i'm some dali-esque giraffe creature with unbending sticks for front legs. it's almost graceful, really, except when one leg slips out because someone left some paper on the floor, or because i get too over-eager and start trying to gallop by stepping with my back (wounded) foot before the crutches are down.

my secret giraffe identity doesn't have a sound, yet. i don't know what kind of noise giraffes make. i suspect i sound similar, though. but maybe a little whinier.

also also also also also:
maybe this is the month that i learn to accept some of my crazy. maybe this is also the month that i learn that i won't ever be perfect, but that i'll be good enough. maybe doesn't mean will. but maybe means maybe.

maybe that's good enough.

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