I’m pretty sure I did something bad to somebody along the way, and this is me apologizing to you, The Universe for all of my past transgressions. And you, The Internet for my Fun-Filled Odyssey that has been the past oh I don’t know COUPLE OF MONTHS.
It must grow tiresome, or at least annoying to constantly hear about What Is Currently Wrong With Aunt Becky, because shit, it seems like it’s ALWAYS something. Because it kinda is. Which I assure you is not because I’ve developed a penchant for the dramatic.
In fact, I hate drama, and the only time in which I was a Dramatic (annoying) Person was in high school when “Oh my GOD. Did you HEAR what SHELLEY did? I am never speaking to her AGAIN. AS LONG AS I SHALL LIVE!” *puts hand to face dramatically* was the way we lived our lives.
Don’t pretend to be above it, y’all. Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you were NEVER dramatic EVER because I won’t believe you at all.
Anyway, my foot is now turning a lovely shade of baby poo yellow tinged with a cobalt blue, and I’m going to be honest: it’s pretty cool looking. It’s weirdness is probably the one thing that has made this whole situation in which I lounge around on the couch noticing how filthy my house has become asking people to fetch me my Diet Coke STAT. I’m not, much as I’d always thought I’d been, the type of person who enjoys lazing about the house making my Sausages do my bidding. I do my own bidding thankyouverymuch.
I’d post a picture of my foot, but you’d only be shocked by my tattoo which covers it up pretty well.
And as for my cervix (is that the weirdest segue you’ve ever heard? I’m thinking yes), my cells are abnormal enough to warrant a full scale biopsy and a coloscopy (the name I’m making up, although that might be it. I keep thinking “colonscopy” which is when someone shoves a camera up your pooper. In case you’re wondering, it’s as much fun as it sounds!).
The Sausagebryo that’s currently occupying my uterus compounds things, so I must wait until August to have this lovely procedure. So that should be fun: knowing that something might be wrong but not knowing for sure for another 7 weeks.
I think I’ve made as much peace with it as I can for now, and I probably won’t be moaning around the house, moping and prostrate with grief. Shit, I can’t hang out in Crisis Mode for weeks on end here, without making my head explode, right? Time, I suppose, to hurry up and chill the fuck out.
Moving on away from boring news onto My Kid May Be A Complete Weirdo News, may I present to you a Ben story:
Me: Did you have fun at the pool?
Ben: Yes. I went down the big slide.
Ben: And I didn’t even care that the lifeguard came! I didn’t feel ANYTHING.
Me: Huh? The lifeguard?
Ben: Yeah, he pulled me out of the water.
Ben: I didn’t feel ANYTHING when I went under.
Ben: Can I go back to the pool with Matthew again?
Me (strangled out): SWIMMING LESSONS. you need SWIMMING LESSONS.
Is it any wonder my hair has been going gray since I was 20?