Here is another one for the universe score card. I felt a burning itching pain on my upper leg. I went to the doctor after some dog owning friends got me all freaked out over tick diseases. (I had peed in the woods a couple of days prior) Doctor says "Sounds like shingles, but could also be cellulitis. Let's treat for cellulitis and if you break out in oozing pustules, some back for treatment for shingles."
Fuck you universe! I raise my middle finger at you universe! You think you can finish me off with lame ass skin infections? I laugh at your infections and use the power of modern medicine to roll forward! Here I go, life as normal, keep going, yes I will.......
In other news, I have concerns over the antibiotics I am now on due to "cellulitis" since my taste buds have been screwed up since last spring with that bout with pneumonia when I couldn't smell or taste for a good solid month and now I can smell but my sweet receptors are off which makes eating things like melon or pineapple into a strangely tasteless experience. If there was any fairness (hahahah) to this world I would taste everything but have no desire to overeat. One of these days I am going to get a handle on that.
In other other news (of the fun never ends variety) I finally got my car back today with the new replacement rear window. I do have to get it detailed because of all the broken glass, but that is going to have to wait until I get back from that dreadful place where Evan went to school for almost two weeks. He has a hearing on Thursday. I freaking hate flying with every cell in my body and once this legal hell is over if anyone even suggests I fly anywhere there better be some pampering for me on the other end of that. For real. Also, my broke ass still kills (though slightly less thanks to me brilliantly standing for three days straight last week) and I have no idea how I am going to survive 4 hours on a plane. I better get an aisle seat.
Oh yeah, I just remembered. I do have one flying that I must do, which is spreading my dear departed friend Bob's ashes. I promised Bob's dying father I would take Bob to Italy. I'm trying to figure out how I am going to make spreading my friend's ashes into a time of peace and resolution for myself. I still miss Bob all of the time. My trigger time for getting weepy over Bob is every time I settle in for a long car ride. That used to be the times that I would call Bob. He could talk forever. Dammit. He was only 49.
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