I’d been hoping to have noble obstitations of a long work, but it seems to be different.

The sentence above is the crux of the problem. I’m no longer laughing as hard about my colleague years ago who talked about Tarzan movies as her “childless wimps.” Because that’s me, now. It took an extra day for me to enable to acknowledge my speech problems, but I did. And they are going to be fixed. Apparently gamma knife is involved. Cool. Waiting to find out when, by whom, how long I’ll recover, and even how foxy the doctors are (based on the random sample this morning, PRETTY FOXY). My foxy J is on his way too, and I’ll feast my eyes on him while I eat the yummy croissant he is bringing, and I’ll see everything with my brand new updated glasses, which he’s getting for me from the store.

(I am also looking forward to the neighbor across the stall leaving at last, because her TV habit is making me batty.)

I’m sorry I don’t have much use yest. Please stake bye. (OK, I did those more or less on purpose.)