It's been four days since my 3-hour glucose test and five blood draws later, my arms still look like Courtney Love's. No results yet but I'm hoping that no news is good news. (UPDATE: All is well.)
Been having weird dreams. Last night I dreamt of Dori. She came to our house for a party and we all applauded her as she arrived on the paved driveway. I don't know what was weirder - the fact that we gave her a round of hand clapping or that we had a house, with a driveway.
You see, I have house envy. And quiet envy. It's been even more noisy here than ever. Let's just say that the jackhammering started at 8AM today. A whole section of brick has been taken out of the wall here. Luckily not on our apartment but on the apartment next door. The one that belongs to the lady who used to be some sort of singer/ showgirl/ Broadway actress ages ago. The one who lives in a huge studio apartment that she got for like, $90,000. She's a pip, this one. When we moved in and didn't have a working kitchen yet, she hung meatloaf on our doorknob (Well, good mornin' to you too!) I enjoy her eccentricities (the way she yells at the workmen, the way she yells at the doorman, the way she yells at the co-op board) -- unless it's pointed at me. "Hey Mommie," she calls me, smelling like cigarettes and stale perfume, aromas that when I was young seemed very glamorous. She likes to corner me every time that I am running back into the apartment to go to the bathroom and ask me things like "am I sleeping enough?" and "do I need any meat?" (answers: No and No). Doug keeps threatening to have her over to sing show tunes. Which would be hysterical, I'm sure but I think we need to keep a little distance from her. It's all right, though. I have enough meat anyway.
Been having weird dreams. Last night I dreamt of Dori. She came to our house for a party and we all applauded her as she arrived on the paved driveway. I don't know what was weirder - the fact that we gave her a round of hand clapping or that we had a house, with a driveway.
You see, I have house envy. And quiet envy. It's been even more noisy here than ever. Let's just say that the jackhammering started at 8AM today. A whole section of brick has been taken out of the wall here. Luckily not on our apartment but on the apartment next door. The one that belongs to the lady who used to be some sort of singer/ showgirl/ Broadway actress ages ago. The one who lives in a huge studio apartment that she got for like, $90,000. She's a pip, this one. When we moved in and didn't have a working kitchen yet, she hung meatloaf on our doorknob (Well, good mornin' to you too!) I enjoy her eccentricities (the way she yells at the workmen, the way she yells at the doorman, the way she yells at the co-op board) -- unless it's pointed at me. "Hey Mommie," she calls me, smelling like cigarettes and stale perfume, aromas that when I was young seemed very glamorous. She likes to corner me every time that I am running back into the apartment to go to the bathroom and ask me things like "am I sleeping enough?" and "do I need any meat?" (answers: No and No). Doug keeps threatening to have her over to sing show tunes. Which would be hysterical, I'm sure but I think we need to keep a little distance from her. It's all right, though. I have enough meat anyway.
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