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I’m not wearing my glasses or contacts, I can’t even really see what I’m typing. The letters are looking like wet, ink smeared, glowing blotches.
It’s 10:30 Friday morning. I’m laying in a nest of green fake sueded pillows on the green fake sueded couch. Mr. X is sleeping. I hope he sleeps all day. He needs it desperately. Not only is he working seven days a week on baseball, he got a hockey puck to the chin/mouth last night. An inch higher, and we would be at the dentist office right now. We were at the hospital getting him stitches until two in the morning. Seven stitches, four on the outside and three on the inside. I was driving home from yoga when he called, told me what happened, and asked if I would pick up some butterfly bandages. I did. When I got home and all the blood had been wiped off, we realized the true nature of the injury and drove straight to the hospital. We were there for three and a half hours. I was trying not to get agitated because when you wait that long at a hospital, it probably means that there are people far worse off than you that need attention.
In other news that’s all about me.
Did I mention that I have a new job? I can’t remember. But I do. I work at a spa four days a week. Four days isn’t really accurate since I only have to be there when I have work. So in reality, I work at a spa for about 20 hours a week, 30 if you count the drive and hang out time. So far, I really like it. The therapists are nice, the clients are mostly nice, and the operation runs like a real business. It’s on a lake, with ducks and swans surrounded by grass, which is a nice break from living in the dusty, thirsty desert.
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