I have drunk deeply of the hateraid and now nothing touches my hard, calloused soul. There are those who maintain I never had one to start with.
Gmail works better with Firefox than with Chrome.
F’rinstance, compose an email. Use the “indent” button to indent a line of text. Press enter to go to the next line and try to unindent it using the “unindent” button without also unindenting the line above it.
I’ll wait.
Today I spent my entire workday with my head down, madly type type typing away. If I hadn’t met with my personal trainer today (and dang my legs are still all noodle-y), the only person I would have spoken to since leaving the house this morning would have been the cashier when I bought lunch. I might as well be working from home for all the personal interaction I squeeze into my busy busy day.
On the other hand, I managed to check off exactly zero (0) things from my list of things to get accomplished. Yay me!
But now the day’s over and I’m going home to play “Rock Band” with my sweetheart and as many of my kids as I can rope into it.
When I was a wee tiny lad, I was sick. A lot. Spent much of my first five years sick, including quite a bit of time admitted to various hospitals. Enjoyed spending time in an oxygen tent with double pneumonia sort of thing. And got quite a lot of injections in the process.
To this day I do not do well with shots. Not all that long ago, an injection would usually lead to my unconsciousness, or at least to serious tunnel vision and wooziness. Occasionally crying would accompany all of the exciting symptoms of impending falling out.
So of course when I acquired a wasting disease (I chose ankylosing spondylitis, which I heartily recommend to everyone), I got one that requires weekly injections to manage. The good news is that, with weekly injections of Enbrel, I’m not in pain and the disease isn’t progressing so I won’t be losing any more range-of-motion.
So anyway I had to go down today to have blood drawn as part of my managed weight-loss program (down 42 pounds so far … woo hoo!). Since I get shots every week and no longer cry/pass out, my wife didn’t go with me to hold my hand.
*pouts*
Holding hands with my wife is one of the best things ever.
I don’t really want to work. The worst part is that I’m not terribly concerned that I don’t really want to work. I am, in fact, concerned that I’m not concerned because I am 100% booked for the next milestone and don’t have the schedule buffer to spend any time faffing around not-working.
I’m not concerned enough to do anything about it at the moment, but I have to keep an eye on that.
In other news, it’s sunny and warm out and I continue not to be a professional golf player, damn it all.