So, we had another exciting birthday celebration this Saturday. In honour of turning 38, I went to the dump, cut my finger open on a nice big rusty pile of crap (well, metal, but I’m pretty sure there was crap on it), did some basic plumbing repairs (unclogged a drain in the upstairs bathroom, put in a new spigot in the back yard) and failed miserably in getting the pool pump system working again. Somehow the whole birthday thing has lost that magical feeling. I did however read an entire dictionary in one sitting. The Uxbridge English Dictionary, so I don’t know if that really counts as an accomplishment.
I also managed to avoid cleaning my desk yet again. I have a new theory on household chores and miscellaneous “man-jobs”. At present, I let them build up so that I have such a backlog that I cannot possibly get any of them done. If asked to fix the sink, I can point out that I still have to fix the pool, put up the fence, take care of the mysterious sinking front porch, replace the facsia, etc., then go back to doing nothing. By pointing out the overwhelming number of tasks, I have so far successfully been able to avoid doing anything. Simply brilliant.
Something I should have avoided was apheresis. I was a good human being on Friday and gave up my platelets, but here it is, nearing the end of the work day on Monday, and I still break out in a cold sweat thinking of all that blood being pumped out of me, shaken around, then pumped back into me, loaded with additives (okay, anticoagulants, but how do I know that they haven’t slipped in a tracking device or two pints of nutra-sweet?). Ugh. My blood pressure shot up just waiting to be hooked up, then I spent two hours trying not to think of the needle in my arm, the creeping coldness spreading up my arm, the tingling in my face and all of the various things that could possibly go wrong. I’m certainly not doing that again for a few more days.
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