Before you start nagging I have an alibi for my absence. Boredom. Actually, I was shaking my ass and hanging out with my grandnieces and grandnephews in Delaware over the Christmas holidays and couldn't have cared less about asshole preachers who are speaking at the upcoming inaugural, or douchebag president-elects who care more about moving to the right than they do about DOING what's right. Asshole.
So shut yer traps and let me wish you all a joyous, happy & healthy New Year or whatever it is that you celebrate around your house at this time of the year! (Saturnalia?)
This was my 11th sober Christmas, in case anybody is counting, and although the fear of being magically struck drunk has long since left me, it can still be a time of dredging up and sifting through unpleasant childhood memories of the drunks I lived with while I was raising myself. Fortunately, I don't do much of that anymore. I have, finally, put most of those demons to rest and choose to live, instead, in the present moment rather than the dreary past.
I'm almost ready to have a boyfriend (don't faint).
There are a couple of headlines in today's celebu-news which caught my fancy. The first pertains to the movie-going experience in general. I love movies. Always have. I hid out a lot in movie theaters as a kid. So imagine my delight when I read this:
"Philly filmgoer gets firing squad for yakking during 'Benjamin Button'."
We easterners don't fuck around when it comes to our movies. BTW, I saw "Benjamin Button" last week and thoroughly liked it, even if it is just like "Forrest Gump" only with Brad Pitt instead of Tom Hanks. So go see it.
I also saw "Doubt" and, as you'd expect, when Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman collide the sparks fairly fly off the screen. I was SPELLBOUND.
Now, in recovery news, there's this hi-larious item regarding "Choices" the upscale, pricey, Malibu Rehab for folks who like to recover AND go clubbing (it's ads state that they do NOT believe in the 'disease concept' of addiction, nor do they preach 12-Step recovery). I'm sure it works for somebody, but it sure wouldn't have worked for me.
Times are hard and they're trying to drum up business by luring in D-list celebutards to tout the place. Read about it here.
If I don't get around to posting again before Thursday, I want all (2) of you to have a safe, sane and sober New Year's and remember, if you insist on getting drunk, for God's sake have the common sense to stay home to do it.
Peace.
Showing posts with label rehab. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rehab. Show all posts
Monday, December 29, 2008
Friday, December 21, 2007
Inside Job
My sponsee was sprung from rehab on Wednesday. He spent that night with a friend of his in Philly. She was good enough to find out times for 12-Step meetings in her neighborhood. Naturally, he didn't go to one that night.
But, he did allege that he went to one yesterday.
He showed up, with the friend, at my doorstep last night, at a pre-arranged and agreed upon time in order to collect his house keys. I could tell that he's on shaky emotional ground right now. The reality and enormity of his loss has finally started to sink in.
It's a funny thing about "bottoms." Everybody in recovery has one. Some were gentle bounces and some were full-fledged thuds (mine was one of the later). The point is that soft or hard, a bounce or a thud, everyone in recovery was absolutely, positively, 100 percent
MISERABLE
when they came stumbling into their first 12-Step meeting with a giant neon sign attached to their foreheads that flashed "NEW" and "PLEASE HELP ME" and with a "deer caught in the headlights look" upon their frightened faces.
When they show up it's my job, and the job of others like me, to do what we can, within boundaries, to offer all the love and support we can until the newcomer finally learns how to smile again after which we set them on the road to more permanent contentment and serenity through the 12-Steps.
That transition happens, usually, around day 50. After 49 days of showing up looking like they'd stayed up all night sucking lemons, one morning they'll come in in and the misery will be gone from their faces. They'll look refreshed because they actually slept all night. They'll smile because they're actually glad to be in the room where they know they are safe, a room full of people who genuinely care about them (and aren't after something).
After nearly 10 years of recovery, I live for moments like that now. I look around the room at my Friday morning beginner's meeting and I see a half dozen people just like that.
A few months ago they were hopeless, miserable, soulless wretches. Now they're ready to become productive members of society again.
When I'm asked why I do what I do to help newcomers my response is the same response I got from MY sponsor, when I had 45 days of sobriety and asked him the same question.
"Because one day you'll do the same for somebody else."
The feelings of fulfillment and joy I get from helping fledgling recoverers fills me with indescribable happiness.
I hope and pray that my sponsee, fragile and delicate at the moment, will someday find what I have found.
That happiness is an INSIDE job.
But, he did allege that he went to one yesterday.
He showed up, with the friend, at my doorstep last night, at a pre-arranged and agreed upon time in order to collect his house keys. I could tell that he's on shaky emotional ground right now. The reality and enormity of his loss has finally started to sink in.
It's a funny thing about "bottoms." Everybody in recovery has one. Some were gentle bounces and some were full-fledged thuds (mine was one of the later). The point is that soft or hard, a bounce or a thud, everyone in recovery was absolutely, positively, 100 percent
MISERABLE
when they came stumbling into their first 12-Step meeting with a giant neon sign attached to their foreheads that flashed "NEW" and "PLEASE HELP ME" and with a "deer caught in the headlights look" upon their frightened faces.
When they show up it's my job, and the job of others like me, to do what we can, within boundaries, to offer all the love and support we can until the newcomer finally learns how to smile again after which we set them on the road to more permanent contentment and serenity through the 12-Steps.
That transition happens, usually, around day 50. After 49 days of showing up looking like they'd stayed up all night sucking lemons, one morning they'll come in in and the misery will be gone from their faces. They'll look refreshed because they actually slept all night. They'll smile because they're actually glad to be in the room where they know they are safe, a room full of people who genuinely care about them (and aren't after something).
After nearly 10 years of recovery, I live for moments like that now. I look around the room at my Friday morning beginner's meeting and I see a half dozen people just like that.
A few months ago they were hopeless, miserable, soulless wretches. Now they're ready to become productive members of society again.
When I'm asked why I do what I do to help newcomers my response is the same response I got from MY sponsor, when I had 45 days of sobriety and asked him the same question.
"Because one day you'll do the same for somebody else."
The feelings of fulfillment and joy I get from helping fledgling recoverers fills me with indescribable happiness.
I hope and pray that my sponsee, fragile and delicate at the moment, will someday find what I have found.
That happiness is an INSIDE job.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Where the F*ck Have I Been???!
Well, nowhere actually. Last week I was a cranky bear. I blamed it all on a sponsee who is in rehab. I had a telecon with him (and his counselor) Wednesday morning and all I could think of, for the rest of the week, were the things I wish I'd said, but didn't.
Then, of course, there were all the things I should've been getting done in time for Festivus, but wasn't. Oh, I'd bought cards and made labels, but they sat on the living room floor like so many paint samples for Jake & Justin's dining room.
I could feel the clock ticking all late last week, the self-imposed pressure mounting (gee, I love being an adreneline junkie!) until I thought I'd explode by Sunday afternoon.
Then I did it.
I pulled the bag up onto the Ottoman and got the labels out of the manila folders.
A measly two hours later I was done (I don't go ape-shit with the cards --- mostly my nearest and dearest family and friends). I had two which were going overseas. The rest were domestic and I actually had enough "Holiday" stamps for those.
The cards all got mailed this morning, including the two to Europe.
I have a real sense of accomplishment today. It won't last, but it feels nice right now.
Oh, and I still don't know what's happening with the sponsee. I haven't heard a word out of him or the rehab since last Wednesday morning.
I hope they're curing him.
Then, of course, there were all the things I should've been getting done in time for Festivus, but wasn't. Oh, I'd bought cards and made labels, but they sat on the living room floor like so many paint samples for Jake & Justin's dining room.
I could feel the clock ticking all late last week, the self-imposed pressure mounting (gee, I love being an adreneline junkie!) until I thought I'd explode by Sunday afternoon.
Then I did it.
I pulled the bag up onto the Ottoman and got the labels out of the manila folders.
A measly two hours later I was done (I don't go ape-shit with the cards --- mostly my nearest and dearest family and friends). I had two which were going overseas. The rest were domestic and I actually had enough "Holiday" stamps for those.
The cards all got mailed this morning, including the two to Europe.
I have a real sense of accomplishment today. It won't last, but it feels nice right now.
Oh, and I still don't know what's happening with the sponsee. I haven't heard a word out of him or the rehab since last Wednesday morning.
I hope they're curing him.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Deck Them Halls!
I resigned from the Codependency Society on Saturday and took myself to the movies instead of driving hours in order to spend hours having the rehab staff give me the thrice-over to make sure I wouldn't be smuggling Crystal Meth into the place when I spent hours on Sunday driving back to spend an hour visiting with my sponsee.
Earlier in the morning I'd spent a fruitful hour having coffee with the sponsee's former boyfriend. Boy, did I get an earful. I got the keys to my sponsee's apartment (which was the original purpose of my visit with his ex), drove over there, picked up the mail, tried to tidy up a little and took out the trash.
I spent a lot of time this past week on the phone with MY sponsor, trying to sort out my feelings, needs, character defects and knee-jerk reactions to needy people which I learned growing up with a bunch of needy people called "relatives" who, incidentally, were alkies like me.
So instead of angrily traipsing off to the wilds of Southern Pennsylvania, I drove to the AMC 24 in beautiful Hamilton, New Jersey and saw "The Golden Compass" which, for my money, was a golden snore. It's so derivative it's not even funny. There's hardly an original idea in the whole thing. It has one or two good effects, and that's it.
Time was I thought Nic Kidman was one of a handful of the most beautiful women in the world. Now I just think she's one of the most heavily-botoxed women in the world. That woman's forehead qualifies for it's own exhibit at Madame Tussaud's Museum of Wax.
The child is utterly charmless and, on occasion, brassy, brazen and more than slightly annoying.
Everyone else was pretty much wasted in their roles.
My opinions were vindicated by less than sterling box-office results for the weekend.
Let's hope that something comes along... and soon... to salvage our entertainment needs.
I spent Sunday reading the NYTimes, shopping, putting away laundry and doing some chores. I clean 1/4 of the kitchen at a time. I found the Faux Christmas Tree and the Genuine MOMA ornament bag and dragged them into the living room. With any luck I'll get the tree up sometime this week since there is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING on television for the next couple of weeks.
In fact, the only bright spot on my television viewing horizon is the fact that Season 3 of "Lost" is now shipping. This is good news since it's highly unlikely that there'll be anything worth watching after the first 8 (new) episodes this year (that's where they stopped shooting when the writers went on strike).
It looks like slim pickens from here on out.
Earlier in the morning I'd spent a fruitful hour having coffee with the sponsee's former boyfriend. Boy, did I get an earful. I got the keys to my sponsee's apartment (which was the original purpose of my visit with his ex), drove over there, picked up the mail, tried to tidy up a little and took out the trash.
I spent a lot of time this past week on the phone with MY sponsor, trying to sort out my feelings, needs, character defects and knee-jerk reactions to needy people which I learned growing up with a bunch of needy people called "relatives" who, incidentally, were alkies like me.
So instead of angrily traipsing off to the wilds of Southern Pennsylvania, I drove to the AMC 24 in beautiful Hamilton, New Jersey and saw "The Golden Compass" which, for my money, was a golden snore. It's so derivative it's not even funny. There's hardly an original idea in the whole thing. It has one or two good effects, and that's it.
Time was I thought Nic Kidman was one of a handful of the most beautiful women in the world. Now I just think she's one of the most heavily-botoxed women in the world. That woman's forehead qualifies for it's own exhibit at Madame Tussaud's Museum of Wax.
The child is utterly charmless and, on occasion, brassy, brazen and more than slightly annoying.
Everyone else was pretty much wasted in their roles.
My opinions were vindicated by less than sterling box-office results for the weekend.
Let's hope that something comes along... and soon... to salvage our entertainment needs.
I spent Sunday reading the NYTimes, shopping, putting away laundry and doing some chores. I clean 1/4 of the kitchen at a time. I found the Faux Christmas Tree and the Genuine MOMA ornament bag and dragged them into the living room. With any luck I'll get the tree up sometime this week since there is ABSOLUTELY NOTHING on television for the next couple of weeks.
In fact, the only bright spot on my television viewing horizon is the fact that Season 3 of "Lost" is now shipping. This is good news since it's highly unlikely that there'll be anything worth watching after the first 8 (new) episodes this year (that's where they stopped shooting when the writers went on strike).
It looks like slim pickens from here on out.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Codependent, thy name is Alcoholic!
One of my sponsees collapsed a week or so ago and wound up back in rehab. The counselors there determined that he really needed to go to a slightly longer-term facility (28 day). I'm all for that. They packed him off to the new place yesterday. He's in a temporary blackout from the world, but can have visitors starting Sunday IF they've spent Saturday in some sort of training session, first.
One of the gifts of getting my brains back is that I recognize when someone needs more help than any mere 12-Step Program can offer. Sometimes people need to be locked up for their own good.
Which is not to say that they totally give up their old ways.
Such is the case with "Mr. X." Mr. X was in a long-term relationship with someone prior to getting sober. Prior to that he'd been in another long-term relationship. The problem with both of these relationships was that Mr. X didn't have a "real life" of his own. His life was lived with and through his relationship to his two partners. Their's were the real lives. His was merely an adjunct to theirs. They provided the housing. They provided the career. They provided the friendships (pretty much).
It wasn't Mr. X's fault. He'd been raised by Mittel-European Jewish couple who kept him away from the world, mistrustful of everyone and then, when he was in his 30's, they both died within 6 months of each other.
He was very much like Chance the Gardner in "Being There." An innocent abroad in the world. He didn't know, really, how to make a living or to have friends or to stand on his own two feet.
Well, eventually both lovers grew tired and bored and eventually Mr. X. sensed that something was awry and he started drinking. A lot. Lover #1 left him. Lover #2 got tired of co-sponsoring his bullshit and, after repeated attempts to get him sober by sending him off to detox centers and rehabs, finally just threw him out a couple of months back.
That's when I came into the picture. Mr. X, who'd dabbled in AA for a couple of years, asked me (out of desperation) to be his sponsor. I agreed. I didn't know how extensive his codependency issues were.
And now I'm finding out.
The ex boyfriend has put his foot down and told Mr. X that he will no longer continue to be a source of support and comfort to him. Mr. X has turned around and nominated ME to be his next victim ("Would you please call xxxxxx and arrange to get the house keys from him? I'm going to need some stuff from the house if I'm going to be here for awile.") As though these were my problems. Which they are not.
This goes right to the heart of my childhood ACOA, CODA issues. I have to set boundaries with him.
He's incredibly needy. I cannot allow that neediness to force me into doing things I do not want to do. Mr. Codependent needs to learn to ask others for help and to do it humbly and gratefully and not with a sense of entitlement.
And both of us needs to grow up. I'm not his daddy and he's not my needy child.
===================================================
Male Sex-Toy Update!
You've got to see this. It's hysterical (and more than just a little intriguing).
One of the gifts of getting my brains back is that I recognize when someone needs more help than any mere 12-Step Program can offer. Sometimes people need to be locked up for their own good.
Which is not to say that they totally give up their old ways.
Such is the case with "Mr. X." Mr. X was in a long-term relationship with someone prior to getting sober. Prior to that he'd been in another long-term relationship. The problem with both of these relationships was that Mr. X didn't have a "real life" of his own. His life was lived with and through his relationship to his two partners. Their's were the real lives. His was merely an adjunct to theirs. They provided the housing. They provided the career. They provided the friendships (pretty much).
It wasn't Mr. X's fault. He'd been raised by Mittel-European Jewish couple who kept him away from the world, mistrustful of everyone and then, when he was in his 30's, they both died within 6 months of each other.
He was very much like Chance the Gardner in "Being There." An innocent abroad in the world. He didn't know, really, how to make a living or to have friends or to stand on his own two feet.
Well, eventually both lovers grew tired and bored and eventually Mr. X. sensed that something was awry and he started drinking. A lot. Lover #1 left him. Lover #2 got tired of co-sponsoring his bullshit and, after repeated attempts to get him sober by sending him off to detox centers and rehabs, finally just threw him out a couple of months back.
That's when I came into the picture. Mr. X, who'd dabbled in AA for a couple of years, asked me (out of desperation) to be his sponsor. I agreed. I didn't know how extensive his codependency issues were.
And now I'm finding out.
The ex boyfriend has put his foot down and told Mr. X that he will no longer continue to be a source of support and comfort to him. Mr. X has turned around and nominated ME to be his next victim ("Would you please call xxxxxx and arrange to get the house keys from him? I'm going to need some stuff from the house if I'm going to be here for awile.") As though these were my problems. Which they are not.
This goes right to the heart of my childhood ACOA, CODA issues. I have to set boundaries with him.
He's incredibly needy. I cannot allow that neediness to force me into doing things I do not want to do. Mr. Codependent needs to learn to ask others for help and to do it humbly and gratefully and not with a sense of entitlement.
And both of us needs to grow up. I'm not his daddy and he's not my needy child.
===================================================
Male Sex-Toy Update!
You've got to see this. It's hysterical (and more than just a little intriguing).
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Anonymity
Last February, at a huge get together of mostly family and many friends in honor of my sister and brother-in-law's anniversary, my sister inadvertently blurted out (via a Karaoke system) how proud she was of me, her brother, "the recovering alcoholic."
It's moments like that that make life worth living and sisters worth killing. But I forgave her. After all, heheheheheh, she was drunk at the time.
She's beaten herself up merciless since then over that little gaffe.
The subject came up again last week, when I was spending part of the week with my sister down at the Delaware shore. I am not anonymous about being a recovering alcoholic. I am, though, anonymous about my associations and associates. And that's for a very good reason.
Let's take, for example, someone like Lindsay Lohan. Clearly this young woman needs help, as evidenced by yet another arrest for drunk driving the other night. And she needs something a little more "hard-core" in the way of recovery than the "feel-good, easier, softer" way that they obviously taught her at Promises in Malibooboo.
Can you imagine what it would have been like if, for example, she'd been elected the national Celebrity Spokesperson for Recovery from Drug and Alcohol Addiction by any of the fine 12-Step Programs out there? Said program would've been ridiculed and scorned as a massive failure based SOLELY on the unfortunate circumstances of one individual.
Which is why ALL 12-Step Programs, in their Traditions, hold fast to the rule of Public Anonymity "at the level of Press, Radio and Film" (and tv, although they don't usually mention it). This is as much to protect the progams as it is to protect the people IN the programs.
"Anonymity is the spiritual foundation" of all 12-Step Programs, so the literature says, "ever reminding us to place principles before personalities."
There isn't a friend or relative left in my life who doesn't know I'm a recovering drunk. But I rarely, if ever, mention exactly WHERE I go to get sober.
That's the way it is, and that's the way it should be.
It's moments like that that make life worth living and sisters worth killing. But I forgave her. After all, heheheheheh, she was drunk at the time.
She's beaten herself up merciless since then over that little gaffe.
The subject came up again last week, when I was spending part of the week with my sister down at the Delaware shore. I am not anonymous about being a recovering alcoholic. I am, though, anonymous about my associations and associates. And that's for a very good reason.
Let's take, for example, someone like Lindsay Lohan. Clearly this young woman needs help, as evidenced by yet another arrest for drunk driving the other night. And she needs something a little more "hard-core" in the way of recovery than the "feel-good, easier, softer" way that they obviously taught her at Promises in Malibooboo.
Can you imagine what it would have been like if, for example, she'd been elected the national Celebrity Spokesperson for Recovery from Drug and Alcohol Addiction by any of the fine 12-Step Programs out there? Said program would've been ridiculed and scorned as a massive failure based SOLELY on the unfortunate circumstances of one individual.
Which is why ALL 12-Step Programs, in their Traditions, hold fast to the rule of Public Anonymity "at the level of Press, Radio and Film" (and tv, although they don't usually mention it). This is as much to protect the progams as it is to protect the people IN the programs.
"Anonymity is the spiritual foundation" of all 12-Step Programs, so the literature says, "ever reminding us to place principles before personalities."
There isn't a friend or relative left in my life who doesn't know I'm a recovering drunk. But I rarely, if ever, mention exactly WHERE I go to get sober.
That's the way it is, and that's the way it should be.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Re-Decoration Day!
I got so sick of looking at my old layout that I decided to try a new one.
Tell me the truth, now. Does this blog make me look fat???
Anyway, I think I'll try this "flush right" format, with bigger, blockier letters for awhile and see how I like it.
News of the Day:
Lindsay Lohan got drunk again. Like that's news to anyone who reads any of the Hollywood Gossip websites (see: below). The kid's a major drunk/druggie and everyone in Tinsel Town knows it.
Let's hope her hangers on, er, posse (the bloodsucking leeches who make a living off of her talents and fame) are wise enough to know that their meal-ticket is in real jeopardy and pack her off to a "real" rehab instead of one of those phony, revolving-door, Hollyweird types of places where they give you time off for good behavior and let you out, with a "sober companion" for wild night's on the town.
Actually, if I were a bloodsucking hanger-on for someone like LiLo, or any of another dozen stars and starlets with serious substance abuse problems, I'd probably be very wary about having my client totally recover. If they did, they might actually "see" how they're being used and manipulated by others who do not necessarily have their best interests at heart.
On the home front, I'm still condo shopping although Memorial Day weekend doesn't have much to offer on that front. Most people were away for the weekend. That included me. I spent Saturday and part of Sunday in NYC with my college roommate, having some quality time together. It was nice. Nicer still since he lives in what used to be known as Hell's Kitchen and which these days is called "Hellsea" ("Hell's Chelsea"). It being Fleet Week, the neighborhood was crawling with sailors and marines, i.e. lots of eye candy for all the inhabitants of the gayborhood.
But I got home Sunday night to find... nothing on.
Fortunately, for me, someone at work had lent me the complete collections of Season 1 and Season 2 of "Lost." I had originally started watching Lost when it premiered 3 years ago, but somewhere along the way I got... well, Lost. And let's face it, it's the kind of show (like "24") that you REALLY need to keep up with. But then I caught the season finale to this past season and was blown away by all the revelations, so I decided to give it another go. I put out an APB at work and the guy who manages the mailroom came through for me.
So on Sunday night (and Monday night) I watched the first five episodes of the 1st season. It's so much easier (and more fun) to watch it without commercials and station breaks. Each episode is over in 46 minutes (less when you skim through the bullshit shots in the jungle). I should be able to finish both seasons in the next two weeks.
It's that time of the year when I have to trudge off to see multitudes of doctors. Next week I have my first run-in, er, appointment with my new endocrinologist (diabetes doctor) and then, over the next month, I see my opthamologist, cardiologist and internist (annual physical).
Naturally, I'll report on everything (my A1C has been faboo for the last year, let's hope it stays that way!)
And that's what's doing on the Least Coast.
Have a great evening everyone!
Tell me the truth, now. Does this blog make me look fat???
Anyway, I think I'll try this "flush right" format, with bigger, blockier letters for awhile and see how I like it.
News of the Day:
Lindsay Lohan got drunk again. Like that's news to anyone who reads any of the Hollywood Gossip websites (see: below). The kid's a major drunk/druggie and everyone in Tinsel Town knows it.
Let's hope her hangers on, er, posse (the bloodsucking leeches who make a living off of her talents and fame) are wise enough to know that their meal-ticket is in real jeopardy and pack her off to a "real" rehab instead of one of those phony, revolving-door, Hollyweird types of places where they give you time off for good behavior and let you out, with a "sober companion" for wild night's on the town.
Actually, if I were a bloodsucking hanger-on for someone like LiLo, or any of another dozen stars and starlets with serious substance abuse problems, I'd probably be very wary about having my client totally recover. If they did, they might actually "see" how they're being used and manipulated by others who do not necessarily have their best interests at heart.
On the home front, I'm still condo shopping although Memorial Day weekend doesn't have much to offer on that front. Most people were away for the weekend. That included me. I spent Saturday and part of Sunday in NYC with my college roommate, having some quality time together. It was nice. Nicer still since he lives in what used to be known as Hell's Kitchen and which these days is called "Hellsea" ("Hell's Chelsea"). It being Fleet Week, the neighborhood was crawling with sailors and marines, i.e. lots of eye candy for all the inhabitants of the gayborhood.
But I got home Sunday night to find... nothing on.
Fortunately, for me, someone at work had lent me the complete collections of Season 1 and Season 2 of "Lost." I had originally started watching Lost when it premiered 3 years ago, but somewhere along the way I got... well, Lost. And let's face it, it's the kind of show (like "24") that you REALLY need to keep up with. But then I caught the season finale to this past season and was blown away by all the revelations, so I decided to give it another go. I put out an APB at work and the guy who manages the mailroom came through for me.
So on Sunday night (and Monday night) I watched the first five episodes of the 1st season. It's so much easier (and more fun) to watch it without commercials and station breaks. Each episode is over in 46 minutes (less when you skim through the bullshit shots in the jungle). I should be able to finish both seasons in the next two weeks.
It's that time of the year when I have to trudge off to see multitudes of doctors. Next week I have my first run-in, er, appointment with my new endocrinologist (diabetes doctor) and then, over the next month, I see my opthamologist, cardiologist and internist (annual physical).
Naturally, I'll report on everything (my A1C has been faboo for the last year, let's hope it stays that way!)
And that's what's doing on the Least Coast.
Have a great evening everyone!
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