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Sorry for the blog hiatus. I shifted to a new Friday-posting schedule and promptly took a vacation day last Friday. But I’m back now. (That was going to turn into an Eminem quote, but man, there’s just no way to do that without sounding like a jackass.)
So much stuff going on, I waited to the last minute to see if anything would take the lead, but I guess today’s topic, as it is so often, is just a bunch of stuff.
It’s been kind of a mopey week for me. For fun, I like to blame the moon, but really, things got off on the wrong foot (so to speak) last Friday, when Dr. Bright Begley Jr. reviewed my MRI results with me: torn lateral meniscus. I learned a lot in that little meeting, but the gist of it is that, due to the nature and location of the tears (plus the nature of my pain), surgery is not a guaranteed solution. Very frustrating.
And as nice as it is that people care and are trying to help, hearing about people with similar injuries who are just fiiiiiiine with it makes me want to crawl in a hole. I want to be frustrated, dammit, and I want everyone else to be frustrated on my behalf. I think about my regular activities—soccer, boxing, just taking an afternoon walk—and feel defeated right off the bat; if that’s not cause for frustration, then my world isn’t right. I’d hoped for a diagnosis, but now that I’ve got one, folks seem satisfied to write it off as fixed. It ain’t.
And to add ew to injury, yesterday I had a mole removed on my foot, so now I’m limpy on both sides, dammit. (I just described myself to Megan as “Hannah vonWobbles.” She didn’t laugh, so I’m trying again here.)
Plus, I stupidly tried to jump into a hockey scrum Sunday night—and no, skating doesn’t aggravate the knee, but being steer-wrestled off the pile aggravates the neck. And the pride. Argh.
But aside from being a Negative Nancy, I’ve tried to salvage the week. After the doc on Friday, we rode our bikes over the bridge to check out the new Daiquiri Deck on St. Armands, then met up with Mrs. Harrible et al at Ceviche for their Skinny Sangria before grabbing a burger.
Ceviche's fourth floor has the best view from a toilet in town. (Well, that I've seen, anyway.)
Gorgeous weather for bike riding, right? Tuesday we headed to Emerson Point to ride the trails after work. That’s usually been a mid-Saturday destination, so the spring evening atmosphere was new and totally worth it. (Seriously, head out there and check out the view from the tower at 6:30 on a March evening—stunning.) Beer and pizza and jazz at the North Trail Rico’s on Wednesday nights is still a worthy destination—especially when the washboard-playing singer lady sticks the mic in front of Little J so he can sing the “rrrrrrrRazmatazz!” refrain of a song. Right about then we realized that, with our high school instrumental experience—CCB on trombone, Little J on trumpet and me on clarinet—we have the beginnings of our own Dixieland band. (Though I doubt anybody wants to hear us try.)
The old boys at Rico's tearin' it up.
The weekend is wide open, which is usually a good thing. Thing 2 will be in town next week, so sisterly madness will ensue. Oh, and Nancy’s Bar-B-Q opened! As predicted, the place is hoppin’ at lunch time. I’ve been twice for lunch, and I haven’t been able to resist the smoked chicken chopped salad either time. But I can’t wait to gorge on the big stuff for the first of what will surely be many after-work meet-ups there. Hmm…maybe we should kick off that tradition tonight.