saucy_dryad

Thanks to all for hugs, well wishes, and assuring me I needn't feel ridiculous about asking for a little bit of help in offsetting my pre-procedure anxiety. As it was, I didn't call for a prescription, but if this goes to the next step you are darned tootin' that I will.

The procedure itself wasn't entirely horrible, though my wacky body composition ensured that discomfort would be at maximum levels. Once it was done and the doctor started talking me through what came next, well... I burst into tears. Ridiculous, horrified, unstoppable tears. On the plus side, she didn't see anything that set off crazy alarm bells. On the minus side, my wacky body composition made it difficult for her to get a truly thorough look. In any event, it's two or three weeks till I have results.

In the meanwhile, I'm trying to be more active, a bit healthier in my nutritional choices, and - overall - more mindful. As I'm also approaching my (dear gods above I'm so much older than I think) 15th wedding anniversary, I'll include a picture of one of the engagement gifts. Sweet Jilly was only a few weeks old when Don gave me a ring and a polaroid, but at nearly sixteen she's still going strong! She's also considerably opinionated about Crimson Pirates rehearsals, as one is. Video to follow, if ever I remember to capture...

This weight fluctuation persists. I'm trying to be patient and do all the right things: eat sensibly, exercise more, stop fretting over the number on the scale/the way my pants seem to be hugging me with EXTRA love. It's the slow road, and it sucks, but it must be taken.

Not much else to share, so I shall leave you with a picture of Handsome Tom curled up on my sweetie's clean (not anymore!) laundry.

If you're not so much for the kitty stuff, know that I put this behind a cut just for you.

For everyone else, click away for what I like to call, "What up with the fuzzy ones." Actually, I don't like to call it that at all. I just couldn't think of anything else, and I have to get to bed. Still... kitties!

( now with 100% more random pics )

Handsome Tom has this rather sweet thing he sometimes does when he sits on something that's skritch-level, say a table or the back of the couch. He tucks his chin down and places the top of his head against my chest. He'll stay there for minutes, whether I pet him or not.

The other day, he lowered his head further still, which I thought was adorable until I realized he was only doing it so he could attack the drawstring on the pj pants I was wearing. That's my boy!

Remember when Handsome Tom stalked Isabeau from above?

He's now giving equal time to Isabeau's sister Jilly.

( click )

While I’m itching to tell you all about our Orlando mini-break, I can’t do that without starting at the beginning. In turn, I really ought not talk about the beginning without getting into how it all ended.

Sorry, kids: pictures of Hogsmeade will have to wait on tales of transportation.

( floo powder: never travel without it )

So. The moral of the story is never fly US Airways, ever, unless you're keen on vast amounts of suck. Likewise eschew Stewart. Westchester isn't that much further away, and it has a LOT more flights while still being less horrible then the vast, hulking Newark and kin. Also, Westchester is where my dashing pilot Dad rescued a wee abandoned and abused kitty who became my psychotic feline BFF.

Heh. I may be a bit hazy on the 'moral of the story' thing.

Isabeau's been spending so much time in hiding, it's a delight to find her out in the open, enjoying the sun. She's looking rather fetching for an old lady of (nearly) fourteen!

Oh. Oh, bugger. Please don't tell her I divulged her age.

There are mice in my house. ( click if you dare. )

Handsome Tom is, as his name states, a handsome cat. He's snuggly and sweet and playful. He is also a bit of a prick. Just ask the older cats. They'll tell you. In an effort to avoid HT's playful but apparently terrifying attacks, they spent months hiding in closets, emerging only to use the litterbox and to eat. Isabeau's much better now. Her new preferred spot is in the big bay window, and while Tom sometimes looms and plays the 'I'm not touching you' game, she stands her ground. Jilly, though, still spends most of her time in the linen closet. That's why I was so delighted to find her in the kitchen a few days ago, watching the birds and enjoying the weak winter sunlight.

Of course, such happiness could not go unsullied.

( clicketh )

( bonus!clicketh )

My own life continues dull and uninteresting, so I offer Stuff About My Cats.

( I know. I KNOW. )

The Great Ceiling Escapade continues apace. Truth? It's nearly done, but I am ~~lazy~~ terribly busy and important and haven't had the opportunity to make regular posts regarding the day to day progress. Let's just think of this as an experiment in time travel - nay, time and space. There may be wibbley wobbly bits.

( My living room is bigger on the inside. )

There's my classy boy.

coming soon: more kitty tales, why I failed at NaNo before it even began, and Almost Finished! pics

There are both plastic and canvas drop cloths on the living room floor. I'm glad I warned S'nP Mike that they wouldn't be nice and neat come tomorrow afternoon, because Handsome Tom is alternately racing through the room and screeching to a halt so he can slide and spin.

Ah, well. At least he's not covered with paint.

Yet.

In lieu of a "Look at my ceiling!" post, I'm going to share with you the reactions my kitties have had to the current project.

( click! )

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saucy_dryad

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