crossing my fingers. and toes. not walking under ladders. tossing salt over my shoulder. Praying to the fickle gods of stress and cruelty to just leave me alone. Pick on somebody else. Please.
Mark -- goes to Kuwait for a couple months. I never realize how much I talk to my husband until he is not available by phone. I think I must call him at least once at a day when he's at work, and when the guys in the lab only have to stick me once to draw blood, he's the one I call to share the good news with...(I was always an easy blood draw until I started to need bi-monthly draws. Suddenly nobody can get a blood sample without three or four sticks...)
Abe -- must have surgery because of his bum knee. He was my one remaining shot at a pet that isn't a special needs pet. The one chance to not spend insanely ridiculous amounts of money on a dog. (Or a guinea pig, which is worse, really. Guinea pigs are only happy to acknowledge you when you rattle a lettuce bag or open the refrigerator.)
Mojo -- not responding to his treatment for valley fever. New meds for Mo.
Dad -- comes to visit and gets exhausted, we think, and has a health scare.
Now...Zach has pneumonia. Pneumonia. Why? I don't know. Where did he get it? Got me. I actually called the paramedics at 1 am because he was said he couldn't breathe. He was in quite a lot of pain. Then I spent all day today getting him to urgent care and getting his chest x-rayed and getting his antibiotics and cough med with codeine. (which is interesting...he mumbles about quadrants and inappropriate -- I couldn't catch anything but those words, and then later he asked me "who and where am I?" Zach stoned. Tomorrow he will hate that feeling, control freak that he is. Tonight he just wants to not cough and to sleep.)
Enough already. I don't need any other injuries, or sicknesses, or complications. I just want to sew with my mom. Make some pajama pants and boxer shorts for the kids. Make a couple of flannel quilts. Finish Mom's pajama bottoms.
Instead I will probably be calling the fire department because the Suburban is on fire. Or one of the stupid palm trees in my yard will fall on me.
I feel like I have an invisible target on the top of my head, and those fickle gods of fate are using me for target practice.
Oh well. At least life is not boring...