going back to work, breast surgery, and a fever of the century capped off by a 50th birthday surprise.
i’m skidding sideways into March with a reporter’s notebook in one hand and a box of sterile gauze pads in the other. oh, and i’m wearing the last clean pair of underwear in the house.
why would someone try to start the car with a pacifier?
all that’s to say i feel like there is a lot more going on than normal, and that i’ve barely got a hold on life. and that’s coming from someone who lived without floors for a while.
now who is going to make me dinner?
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