And so, I’ve fallen off the planet once again.
It’s not exactly like nothing has been going on, It’s just that my unparalleled boringness was eclipsed by my aggressive laziness. My vacation in Hawaii—which I returned from a month ago—still remains woefully unchronicled. Instead, my precious hours have been consumed by gambling and collecting bellybutton lint. Except for a few minor items . . .
For one, my eternal tenure at Leapfrog Online has been trumped by an apprehensive incumbency with Peak6 OptionsHouse.
Wednesday would have been a normal day, and for the most part it was, until I noticed my chest getting more and more uncomfortable through the day. Well, to the doctor I went, and after some stuff was ruled out, it turns out I have both costochondritis and an ulcer. Now, I’ve had inflamed cartilage in my chest before, and normally it’s very easy to control with Advil or Aleve, and time.
I have necessarily been incommunicado for the first two weeks post wedding–not because of our honeymoon, which remains a week away, but to recharge. Too much socializing, an unceasing onslaught of novelty, and a hospital visit consumed every vestige of current powering my scarcely animate carcass. This of course, requires copious explanation.
So far as memory serves, the revelry began on the 28th. Aside from checking into the hotels, setting up the dining hall, trucking to and from Bloomington to snatch my mother from the wretched clutches of Amtrak, relaying sketchy directions to visitors, and generally contributing to increasing turmoil all before 5pm to attend the rehearsal and accompanying dinner, I maintained most of my composure.
So today at 8:30am, I had an MRI. It wasn’t as bad as last time, but it sure seemed louder somehow. The machine was much more recent–sporting a fancy LCD embedded into its doughnut badness–yet in the advancements it contained, apparently none of the engineers considered integrating sound dampening to avoid permanently deafening patents enclosed entirely within its grasping confines after repeated exposure to proximal squeals resembling a drunken hobo occasionally plucking the same frayed string on a “sweet” electric guitar he found jacked into a defective amp incapable of any setting below 100 decibels.
Ugh! Fine, I’ll write something! Geez.
So the post-hurricane monsoon eventually hit Illinois and dumped copious amounts of fluid upon our hapless suburbs, and a friend of ours has an aunt and uncle living in dangerous proximity to a lake. Most of Saturday afternoon on the 12th was spent moving their furniture to the second floor and sandbagging his house, and we didn’t get home again until around 1am. Nothing really notable happened, but I was highly amused by the garter snake seeking high ground on a recently arranged sandbag; thankfully I didn’t step on any wildlife while wading through the knee-deep miasma back to Jen’s car.
