I'm thinking of changing the tagline of this blog. It's gone from "Adventures of a dilettante in neuroscience: this won't hurt a bit" to "Brains. Spines. Goo." (a little underdescriptive) to "This won't hurt a bit."
"What do I do with this thing, exactly?"
"Scotch: It's what's for dinner." (Sister's Boyfriend, the one who fell off the ladder, sent me a dozen tiny bottles [5 centiliter] of odd single-malts for my birthday. Lest anyone think his middle initial is E-for-Enabler, 70 centiliters of Scotch will keep me drunk for 70 months. We're going through it *very* slowly. But still.)
"Will drain CSF for food."
I'm trying to decide what to take to Canada. That is, I'm trying to decide how many pairs of long underwear, how many pairs of wool socks, and how many long-sleeved shirts and sweaters I can fit in one duffle bag and still have room for the bottle of tequila that Pal Joey has requested. Apparently the liquor-store employees in Montreal are all on strike. (???)
You cannot buy, for any price, a wool sweater in this part of the country, regardless of the time of year. It doesn't get that cold. I managed to find a couple of wool "blends" (angora, cat hair, rayon, steel wool, asbestos) at 75% off the other day, and so picked up those. One is black; the other is the ugliest shade of green I've ever seen. It's so completely misbegotten that it looks marvelous with a pair of brown corduroy pants.
I'm also wondering how easy it would be to cook a Tex-Mex dinner for my Polish and Canadian friends, some of whom are vegan and others of whom are scarily fit. Perhaps I should make room for sopapillas and tortillas in my luggage. I really, *really* want to teach the Artistic Canadian Man With His Own Website how to do tequila shots the right way (lick coarse salt off hand, shoot tequila, suck lime), but I'm not sure I can get limes in Quebec in February for under CN $400.
And should I wear the stitched black cowboy boots with tooth-picker toes that I have, or pack them? And will my new jeans arrive in time? (Having lost some weight, hoorah, I find I now have to buy size 12s to get the properly baggy Midstate Hippie Look.)
Part Three, in which our heroine attempts to forestall the inevitable:
I bought some of that Neutrogena Dangerous Face Resurfacing Stuff the other day. You know what I mean: 1.7 ounces comes in 45 pounds of packaging, but the contents of the jar are supposed to Turn Back The Clock when it comes to facial skin.
I was desperate. I would say "I was drunk" but a) it was 1:30 in the afternoon, and b) I don't *get* drunk; I get sick. So I was full of pizza and fears of looking my age.
(Note: I notice now that when I say "I'm 35" or "I got fat" nobody corrects me or protests at either one. Oh, dear.)
So I get this jar of stuff. I slather it on, let it dry for ten minutes, then use my fingertips, moistened with warm water, to buff it off my face.
I will not lie to you, sisters. My skin looked and felt like absolute shit after I was done.
However....the next day, I got many compliments on my skin. The pebbly texture that I've grown used to, the signal of PMS-under-skin-zits, was gone. Fine lines were Honest-to-Frog Diminished. Makeup went on more smoothly. There was nary a sign of redness.
One of my patients (given, he was on Ativan at the time) said, "You look so innocent."
I'm honestly, no-joking-here worried about how long I can keep up this work. Neuro nursing is notoriously hard on the body; you have to lift people who have no idea that they have a right/left side. Lately, I've started noticing that I creak interestingly when I turn over in bed (I need a new mattress anyhow, but this is on top of that), that I can't check my blind spot as easily as I used to, that I get out of a low chair without pain.
Having lived with chronic pain in the past, I'm in no hurry to do it again. I'm looking hard at leaving the high-control, high-prestige world of University Nursing and going to the Community Scary Hospital About To Open In The Spring in the hopes that I'll have some variety.
Any input is welcome. Click on "Speak".