Thursday, November 13, 2014
Well, It Is a Day With a "Y" In It
When you take Tamoxifen, you're supposed to limit yourself to one drink per day (or a max of seven per week).
It . . . is good that I'm taking a month off from Tamoxifen.
Life is a whirling whirligig of a whirlwind at present, four Chardonnays going in four different directions at all times, with Air Traffic Controller Mommy barely, just barely, keeping all the balls in the air and all the trains running on time. (Let's play Treasure Hunt and find all the metaphors in that sentence, shall we?)
I'm too tired to post anything in real detail, but here are some newsy bits:
After 16 years of carefully easing our way up and down our front steps during the icy season, holding on to nearby bushes for support, we now have railings! And they are gorgeous! And they were relatively cheap!! I am so so SO happy!!!!
I have a "new" (used) car! It is a 2010 Honda Civic with less than 40,000 miles on it, it is sweet and clean and beautiful and drives like a dream, and I have named her Foxy Red:
After spending money on all this, plus a huge chunk of change to rebuild the crumbling retaining wall that runs along my front lawn, we are even broker than usual, and our Home Equity Line of Credit is crying. But! Harvard wants to hire me again, plus I have another job scheduled for next week. All will be well. Probably. Maybe. Most likely.
I can't remember how long ago I colored my hair, but it still looks fabulous!!! I am so happy when I look in the mirror!
I think that's all. Mimosa appears in West Side Story this weekend, I'm on the Make-Up Committee, I have to turn a dozen WASPy tweens into a Hispanic street gang. Me and a mascara wand, we are magic.
I e-mailed Brunie today:
I estimate that I can start drinking in four hours. Is it wrong that I’m timing it practically to the minute at this point?
I say any time after noon is fair game drinking wise. Go for it!
It just seems wrong to breathe alcohol into the faces of impressionable Anglo teens. And also, I have to drive back and forth to Watertown. A clear head seems . . . right.
Three more hours. I can wait. (But thanks for pep talk, ENABLER.)
I do what I can to help. And you can just tell the kids, "It's mommy's medicine, and shut up, I know I'm not your mommy! How drunk do you think I am? I'm GLAD I'm not your mommy. If I were your mommy, I'd slap that snotty look off your face right now! Now get over here so I can make you a Mexican or whatever."
Three hours, good luck!
I'm home now, and sippin' some of the sweet stuff. And it's goin' down gooooooood.
Bath time! Yes, at 6:40 p.m. I'm living large!
— Lady C