So, the latest medical shenanigan I have fallen victim to is tonsillitis. How gross is tonsillitis? You get those disgusting white bumps on your throat surrounding the "punching bag," as I like to call it, and it feels like knives when you try to swallow anything. I discovered this while trying to enjoy a leisurely glass of orange juice. For the love of God, OW. I thought maybe I stabbed myself in the throat with a potato chip or a pointy piece of toast as I often do, but no, no, I have an -itis usually reserved for 5-year-olds. I told the doctor I would take them out myself if he would give me his little knife and some gas. Tonsillitis is not in my immediate life plan.
However, my new BFF, my ENT, gave me a steroid shot along with yet more antibiotics, and the steroid shot is my favorite thing ever. How do you just request to get those every month or so? That would rock. It made me feel better like, immediately, and gave me lots of kicky energy and interesting things to say...for hours and hours and hours, until Smitty told me to shut up with a look akin to a look you would give that annoying person in the doctor's office who won't shut up about their hemorrhoids or spastic colon until you want to lock yourself in the bathroom so they can't talk to you anymore. That was me last night. Oh, the shame.
I'm preparing for Christmas; I'm trying to figure out what to tell people to get me. I don't mean that to sound self-involved, I genuinely have issues telling people what to get me. In theory, I'm a really easy gift receiver. I just want gift cards. Well, actually, I want liposuction and hypnotherapy to make me exercise when I crave anything breaded, buttered, or carbohydrate in nature, but even Santa can't grant that wish. But when I tell my sister/mother/grandmother, "Just get me a gift card," they say that it's not enough to wrap up, that they want to get me something they can wrap...grrrr...The most useful things Smitty and I got, aside from our fabulous comforter, shower curtain, etc...when we got married, were our gift cards. That way, we would get whatever we wanted, and needed, and that was far better than getting a pig clock or something just because people "wanted to wrap something."
Now, just to pin other folks down about what they want. My family always wants to think about it..and they wonder why I end up shopping 5 days before Christmas. I do not enjoy this, much as I do generally enjoy procrastinating..no, no, this involves flourescent lighting with sweaty, fat people wearing Alabama shirts..not the good procrastinating. This is the kind of thing that makes me Exorcist-Yosemite Sam-crazy, which is why Smitty will only let me go with him to Wal-Mart during off-peak times, because he alleges that I will get him into a fight if I accompany him.
I told him a past story the other night that confirmed this: I went to an "after-party" during our karaoke days, and this guy walked past me wearing jeans and a sweater vest with nothing underneath. I had partaken of some cocktails, saw this abomination, and said, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, come here, what's going on here? Are you a Night Court fan? Did you like Mack? Why are you wearing a sweater vest with nothing underneath it? I can't handle this, really, why are you wearing this?" My, um...bookish guy friends were standing behind me going "Dammit, why did she do that? We're gonna get into some kind of rumble, etc..." And then I felt really bad, because the guy walked away in utter shame, and his friend came over to let me know that he had recently lost a ton of weight by working out and wanted to show off his new physique. I felt bad for calling him out, but you still do not wear a sweater vest, really anytime, much less with nothing underneath. That is very Jersey-esque.
I heard a story on NPR today (pretentiousness enters here) about Mark Twain, and it struck me on a couple of levels. One, he wrote nearly all of his best novels nowhere near the Mississippi, but in upstate New York. And he wrote from 8 to 5 with no break, and then read his daily pages to his wife and daughters after dinner. I love the image of that, his dedication combined with the love and inclusion of his family with the words that went on to inspire millions. He'd have had no way of knowing that. Could you imagine being his daughters and later in life remembering hearing the rough draft of "Tom Sawyer?" But then the sad part of it is, all of his daughters died before they were 30, and his wife was only 58 when she died. So, they were all buried at his haven in upstate New York, but after his last daughter died on Christmas Eve at 29, he said "I can't bear to see any more loved ones in the dirt," and he never went back. I guess things like that make me feel like a a completely entitled dilettante when I whine about the trivialities in my life. That's why I like NPR, not really the political aspect, but when I hear things like that, and I can acquire a little perspective and get goose bumps, I'll take all anyone wants to say about "liberal NPR." If by liberal, you mean thought-provoking, then call me Liberal Lisa, Mayor of Crazy Liberal Town.
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