I can really tell I’m upset about no more NCIS – I found myself going to fanfic sites this morning. And… backing away slowly. Do I really – I mean really – want to read Gibbs-on-DiNozzo slashfic? It is to heave. Gibbs/Abby? Tempting, but no. On the other hand, Salmon Guy returned my S1 Deadwood box, so I could go back to Deadwood if I wanted to.
My nose has stopped running and now I’m coughing. A dry, hacking cough. The next week will be joyous; I remember thinking about a month ago that it had been bloody ages since I was really sick with something. Note to back: Please keep improving somewhat. I’m experiencing less pain, although I nearly went ass over teakettle down the stairs at Production Way Station yesterday morning when my leg partly buckled, so I guess I need to work on some muscle strength. Patricia recommends running in water. Anyway, I thought “all those kids will break my fall’ – the station is jammed at that time of day – but you KNOW it never works out like that in real life – the stuff you don’t break bruises to the bone, and my back already hurts, and I don’t do pain well. I’ve learned my lesson; I have to go down the stairs with my hand floating a couple of inches above the handrail, just in case. The one day I thought I could go down the stairs in the middle I learned that my earlier caution was entirely justified. Then I think about my grandmother, and I figure it’s time for me to shaddap.
Tonight, Sloppy Joes, if I can remember to ask my bro to get nice, structurally sound buns for dinner, and spaghetti if not. Can you believe it? Katie came through and the macaroni is all gone AND she ate dinner. Honestly cooking to make leftovers around here is hazardous. We either get bored of it or it vanishes into Katie’s piehole before we even have a chance to get bored of it.
I light a candle for Tom, who’s back in hospital.
I light a candle for Jeff, for being understanding.
