Tea and Dragons

I have spent most of the day passed out in bed with either a cold or the flu; at least one of my kittens is a mouser, but would rather play with her food; and both my kitchen sink and the ceiling over my toilet seem to be leaking slowly.

It's not so much that I want a do-over as I'd like a little moderation.

Henrietta is departed not long after my last entry; one of the receptionists at the vet fell in love with her, and since she was still making me sneeze I passed her on.  I haven't heard anything though I offered to take her back if there were problems, so I assume all is well; I will call at some point. 

She went into a sort of apologetic heat five days before, well-behaved but rather pathetically asking me to make it better, which of course I couldn't.  She was so uncomfortable, poor thing.  But that does answer the question of whether she'd been spayed or not. 

I've been off most social media for weeks, haven't touched Twitter really and spent a month not looking at LJ.  Pain absorbs my energy even when I'm on analgesics, and I've had to switch to the prescription ibuprofen.  My ovarian cyst has returned and it rather rivets my attention. 

I'm to make an appointment for surgery this week.  *sigh*  I don't want to go through it all again, but there's not much choice; the thing's at three inches and growing and I have days where I can't concentrate for hours at a time.  At least I don't have the nausea yet. 

The surgeon keeps urging me to have the whole thing removed, but common wisdom is that a hysterectomy can cause major health problems down the line, and the recovery time is more than I can afford.  I'll settle for losing the one ovary... 

I've been feeling more and more distressed all morning--like I'm building up (or down?) to the sort of fit of depression I almost never see any more.  Feeling petulant and upset, much outside my usual calm phlegmacy.  Of course I'm quite stressed these days, at least for me--my usual extremely uninteresting life is not so much, at the moment.  But it's still without definitive source. 

Oddly enough, I had another such incident some weeks ago--getting stronger and stronger until with a tangible snap it cut off and I was back to normal.  Extremely odd, though a relief.  

I'll eat the somewhat dubious sandwich I picked up for lunch.  Perhaps raising my blood sugar will help. 

Yeah, been a while. Personal stuff (nobody died) I am not at liberty to discuss in a public forum, etc. New glasses I'm not sure I like. Tax refund. Lots of books. Finding out I don't care for the Blade Runner soundtrack, such as it is. Having to temporarily move two offices' worth of paperwork--my ex-boss has a Francis Crick book autographed to him*, and it looks like he left it in a puddle at some point. *sigh*

The quirkiest thing that has happened lately is that I purchased (among other things, thanks for the birthday presents cincoflex!) two CDs. One is a re-press from a vinyl album, Cleo Laine's and James Galway's Sometimes When We Touch. This is an album I grew up with. It includes the fantastic Anyone Can Whistle, which is something of a personal joke for me. It also includes How, Where, When?, which is an interpretation of Pachelbel's Canon & Gigue in D (yes, that one).

The other is Pachelbel's Greatest Hit, which I got in part because the Mutts illustrations amused me. It's a collection of different versions of that canon. Guess what one of them is...

It's almost as good a conjunction as the time I was recording Blake's 7 episodes over old Doctor Who eps, missed the one where Colin Baker guest-starred and left a space for it, then realised/realized/ahscrewiti'mwritingtoomuchHPfic that the Doctor Who ep left in the space was the Colin Baker one that Paul Darrow guest-starred in. 

Also, high blood pressure makes my dreams much more vivid and long, but makes it hard to sleep deeply. 

This concludes the random update for the evening. 



*Not that Crick wasn't involved in dodgy research, but it's still a bit lust-inducing, at least for a science bibliophile.