Was I really ready to be out in polite society today? Hard to say. I felt pretty awkward in conversation, after spending weeks focused on nothing but how crummy I felt. It was particularly apparent when the topic of Ukraine came up, and it was my turn to be asked how I viewed it. I sputtered incoherently half a minute and finally said it is a good thing I'm not in charge of diplomacy in this horrid mess. I am feeling too hot-headed, and I have emotions telling me to go in and join the fight to kick the invaders out. My first day back with my friends and I was practically snarling like a wolf, saying it already is World War III, let's freaking go! Maybe I should stay quiet another few days, and have a nice cup of mint tea, until I can refrain from grabbing a torch in one hand and a pitchfork in the other.
I went straight from Rotary to the surgeon's office. I got the final suture out from the "t junction." The anchor-shaped scar is healing nicely, and the nurse was fine with me not taking the entire course of antibiotics after it tore up my stomach. I have been given permission to expand my arm movements, and to perform very light massage on all of the altered areas. However, I am still not allowed to sleep on my side. Of everything good and bad in this whole process, that last bit is affecting me most. I need to sleep in a tight fetal position. I really need it. I miss it so much.
I got messages from the road as the Mr drove the moving truck for his friend from the Pakistan deployment. Having never lived in the northeast, I never realized just how close Washington DC is to Michigan. He made the drive from early morning to early dinnertime. He was half unpacked by the time I checked back in with him this evening. I've seen the real estate listing of this big old farm house, and was already intrigued. Now he has sent me shots from inside the place, with descriptions of the layout. I'm beyond jealous. I love old houses, and would have loved a place like this. I'm still standing by my decision to make where I am my forever house, but every once in a while, I do itch to move into a farm house somewhere, for Smith Park III.
I didn't acquire permission to post the photos he sent, and I'm not personally acquainted with this friend, so I can't ask directly to share photos from inside their new house that they haven't even moved into yet. So I took a selfie of me and Alfred (an "ussie" according to Ted Lasso, right?) That will have to do.
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