Dec. 15th, 2006

I have just eaten a Chee-to. No, two Chee-Tos.
Moreover, I have had not one but two whole bowls of Italian Wedding Soup. With tortellini in it. Oh bliss.

I have also, since last night, eaten about 1/2 cup homemade applesauce (I think I blogged that already), 1/4 of a honeydew melon (which was the Best Thing Ever), and a piece of toast with jelly which it took me nearly two hours to work my way through. That was all this morning, working up to the eventual Soup For Dinner, which event just about made my life.

It seems ungrateful, so soon after having wished so hard to be able to swallow something and not vomit it right back up, to be wishing for yet more, but I really wish my poo would go back to normal too. I am nothing if not a needy bitch.

Ahh, illness. It brings out the inner TMI in all of us. Or, well, maybe just me.

In other news I have returned safely to Buffalo, with a minimum of delays. While home I successfully helped my grandma move from the hospital to a rehab facility (where they've assured her she'll walk for Christmas, and she's managed to rediscover most of her sense of humor), helped my dad sort of figure out how to cope with the two battling rival photo-album programs that came with the computer, and also figured out how to burn a CD with their new computer. (Disappointingly enough, that consisted of me sticking a blank CD into the slot and clicking the right choice in the dialogue box that popped up, BUT I feel somewhat less dumb for the fact that Dad said "Oh that happened before but I didn't see anything that looked correct to choose", so I comfort myself that maybe they did need me after all. Anyway it's good that my expertise didn't really need to be strained much because I was having trouble enough with the fact that I've never actually used Windows XP.)

I also got to see and pet Ghost. (I think I blogged this already but I'm chalking it up to delirium and writing it again.) Once I was ill, Ghost decided I was absolutely no threat, which was a fair enough assessment given that I couldn't stand or, really, move. Although I did at one point appropriate Roon as a sock-warmer, so goodness knows what I could've done to Ghost if she'd been careless enough to get within reach and then hold real still for about three hours while I noticed she was there and came up with a diabolical scheme. [The sock-warming scheme was a lot less spur-of-the-moment than you'd think, and also a lot less successful: one of the socks, unbeknownst to me at the time, wound up not on Roon, but in the barf bucket, which, as you can imagine, did neither it nor me any good. Roon, however, made out just fine.]

I was the last to go up to bed last night. I nipped into the living room to turn the lights out and turn the heat down. Snick was sleeping in the big blue chair at the back of the room, with his paws and tail tucked neatly under, his nose turned downward. Lying on top of his back was a small catnip mouse. I know he didn't put that there. I also know no human put it there. Poor Snick. If he won't play with her, Ghost plays with him anyway.

Ooh boy, I've managed to stay up nearly two hours later than I'd thought I would. Burning the candle at both ends, baby. I'm zonking now.



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