A year ago today I was recuperating from bunion surgery and probably wearing the exact same clothes I'm wearing right now. Tuesday I went to see foot doctor #2 because I'm nervous about seeing foot doctor #1 since my foot still hurts like a bastard. Sometimes it hurts even worse than a bastard. It's been nearly two years and this foot of mine has fluctuated between constant and semi-constant pain the entire time. It's sickening and nauseating and makes me pissy and bitchy and useless. So, back to FD#2. He said the only thing I can do is have another surgery, which is pretty much what I expected him to say. So now I'm going back to FD#1 and see what he says. Here's the deal though. I can't afford no stinkin' surgery. Short-term disability is for punk-ass bitches who don't like to eat or shower in doors. Cause let me tell you, 60% of my income will buy me a cup of coffee and pay maybe two of my 900 bills. So that's that. Something for me to mull over.
John and I ate Mexican for supper and I drank a three dollar Margarita and bought a new broom at WalMart because John used our old broom to sweep snow off the porch and the cars. Mmm-hmm. Snow. And ice. Tis the season of purple fingertips and wearing a ski hat to bed. The cats have fattened up significantly for the winter. Their bellies are all hard and they feel like grub worms when I pick them up. John's taken to calling Ernie "Fluffernutless".
My plans for the weekend involve de-icing the freezer and trying to talk John into going to either the Wadsworth or the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. I crave museums. I love them so much I could spit.