There comes a point in every person's life where they realize that they have to call the doctor (again) and ask if it is still reasonable that they are sick, sick sick, with *list of symptoms omitted* after a whole month and two rounds of very strong, broad spectrum antibiotics. If, like me, that person has also had their left front tire blow out and the cat rack up a $330 vet bill in the same week, they are perhaps... reluctant to go back to the doctor. Because as nice as he is, the deductible isn't met yet.
When it rains? It pours. And it has been pouring here in LA, though certainly not at all along the lines of what it has been doing in New Hampshire, New Jersey and what it might be doing down in Florida.
So yeah. There's me, sick and grouchy. There's the youngest child, who is grouchy and also feeling sick. The cat, limping and grouchy. And the weather. Grouchy. Plus we've got a houseguest visiting from back East, so despite illness and wanting to lounge about with tea in jammies, I am feeling somewhat compelled to show her a good time and take her places, except we haven't got a car because the cat's front tire blew out at the same time as the car's front tire and cat trumps car, so we're taking the wonderful LA Metro transit system everywhere and it is HARD to get around LA without a car. Not impossible. Difficult. Requires planning and time. Which, if you'd rather be lounging in jammies with a steaming mug of Theraflu, kinda blows ropy goat chunks.
Today we are off to a yarn shop and then to Olveras Street in search of some Dia De Los Muertos swagginess. And there is theoretically a trip to Perversion on the agenda for tonight, but I might just beg off that and let my houseguest go with my friend who is driving. Because I honestly don't see how I'm going to get better if I'm hanging about in stompy clubs with my germy old self. At least I am getting good hostess points.