Was my birthday totally craptastic? Why, yes, it was.
It all started when I got out of bed. Doesn’t it always? I started to black out and then kept swooning. It took me three tries to get back from the bathroom to my bed. I had stopped a medicine the night before in order to start a new one and our doctorman thinks the switch resulted in a series of mini-seizures. Fabulous. I suppose minis are better than full scale ones, but I would still rather have a blow job from some muscular youth.
Later that afternoon, en route to a birthday massage at the Kabuki Spa, I got a call from R Man. The results of his biopsy had come in; he has non-small cell lung cancer. We’re supposed to see the oncologist on Friday and will have no details until then. Wikipedia assures us this is better than the some other kind of cancer, much like mini-seizures. Please see my comment above re: blow job, muscular youth about what we would rather actually have.
The massage? Fine, but you know, massages need to be a “here, now” kind of experience and I kept sliding off into “what if” crummy land. Hard to pay attention.
The evening finally was capped off by my second oldest friend calling me from Texas to say she has been in the hospital since February with a perforated colon. She may recover. She may not.
She’d probably prefer a muscular youth as well.
Yeah, happy birthday. I felt like the cosmos was yelling “But wait! There’s more!” like a ginzu knife ad.
If you want me, I’ll be in bed with the covers over my head.