I still have too much to do, but I’ve actually done some of it.

Done: Mow, grocery, trap, sheets, covers, storage, paint picked out.

Started: Transcription practice.

Not started: Painting, flooring, decarpeting, dechairing, cleaning.

Still waiting for: Smack upside head.

In possession of: Caffeine. Woo!

I even found a caffeinated Kool-Aid type beverage. Hot damn.

… not getting me very far. I haven’t crossed anything off my list yet.

And I need caffeine.

I have too much to do. I need to finish two sections of transcription practice, mow, paint the bathroom, lay the floor, take the rest of the carpet off the stairs, haul the rest of the recliner to the dump, do a general cleaning, and go to the grocery.

Oh, I also need another trap for my sink, new sheets for the new mattress set that’s coming Wednesday, covers for the box springs, under bed storage, cat food, a new paint roller, and a smack upside the head.

At the hospital, they said that we would be given a number and could watch a giant electronic tote board, following our loved ones as they progressed from preop to op to postop like good little lambs.

It was 4:50 am, and the girl behind the computer was beautiful–blond and chipper and young and almost chirping. We were her first. This morning? No, ever. She was just out of training, so alive. Unbeaten.

She checked Steve in, then led us upstairs and told us about the tote board as we stood in front of it. I had his number clutched in my hand, and my hand was sweating around it. I wondered how fast the ink would be, how blue my hand when I peeled it back, but I shouldn’t have worried. It was legible, oh so neat writing, with fat numbers. No little hearts to dot an i because there was no i at all, just 8s like bulbous snowmen, 9s with a clever hook in the tail.

And the board didn’t work.

You could watch us all, drifting like gulls, looking to find and point and cry “mine!” but left staring at three lonely numbers that never changed. 11 am one said. 1:34 pm. 5:16. Who were these people, kept on the board all night, or all weekend, or always? They were the teasers, telling us what could be if the hospital chose. This is what we could know.

5 am. 6. 7. I told other gulls that the board wasn’t working. They’d stare at their paper and up. Down and up. My news was greeted with an oh, sad, defeated, and they’d slouch back to a seat.

But I stood there. Well, paced there is more accurate. Around and around like a tetherball. “It’s not working. Been here since 5. Not working. Hasn’t changed.” All we like sheep. Wooly. Confused. Bleating.

My mother asked how I was promoting my book and I told her that I had talked about it on my blog and posted in two places. And, though the posting wasn’t even primarily about the book, I still felt like I might be being pushy about it.

Please, if I am being pushy, tell me to stop. I can be dense.

I’m back. Who missed me? *crickets*

It feels like forever since I’ve blogged, but it’s only been a day or two.

Yet another wrist appointment tomorrow. And the sink is leaking. But otherwise skies are pretty blue in Julieland today.

Exhausted. I am reeling.

Steve’s left arm is numb from his shoulder to his fingertips, and it’s in a sling. This is his first sling! We’re so proud.

The surgery went well, according to the surgeon. Did I mention the surgeon is a novelist? Did I mention he looks like he’s twelve? Scary times.

Get outta my way, Ohio, I stop for no man!

And damn. Who knew I’d be hungry this early? I want pancakes.

Seven hours until we have to leave for Steve’s surgery. I’m more concerned than I was for past ones, probably because this is pretty much a last-ditch effort.

They want him to wear an anti-nausea patch. They didn’t offer me one, or I would wear one, too.

Almost six months. Is there a light at the end of the tunnel that isn’t a train?

I don’t have anything worthwhile to say, so I’ll do memes. Yay!

This one via twitches at The Twitching Line.

1) Your Rock Star name: (first pet and current street name)
Charlie Columbus. Rock on!

2) Your Movie Star name: (grandfather/grandmother on your dad’s side and your favourite candy)
Oh dear. Bertha Toasted Log. Steve’s would be Burness Smartie.

3) Your ‘Fly Girl/Guy” name: (first initial of first name and the first two or three letters of your last name)
J-Car!

4) Your Detective name: (favourite animal and favourite colour)
Cat Red, baby.

5) Your Soap Opera name: (middle name and the city where you were born)
Ann Lancaster. Steve’s is Ray Bowling Green!

6) Your Star Wars name: (first three letters of your last name, last three letters of your mum’s maiden name, and first three letters of your pet’s name)
Car Oos Alb

8) Your Porn Star name: (middle name, father’s middle initial, and the street you grew up on)
Ann A Bethel

9) Your Superhero name: (‘The’, your favourite colour, and the automobile you drive)
The Red Liberty! Steve is The Blue Mustang.

10) Your Ghetto name: (first two or three letters of your first name, -Shawn/Quan/Quita/Niqua, last name of whatever Prime Minister is on the currency you pull out of your pocket)
JuQuita Bush.

Oh dear.