I haven't had anything to say, or do, or make fun of since the semi-inappropriate harvest party of 2014. Until today.
Just when I was thinking it would be boring and I would have nothing to update until the transplant Erik throws out the following:
Remind me that tomorrow I have to pee in a jar. All day.
Yeh, let me add that to my to do list. Laundry, dishes, catch up on netflix, remind husband to pee in a jar. Not necessarily in that order.
Last night when talking about the chaos and stress that will no doubt creep into my world on or about November 19th I actually said, out loud:
You get to be sedated for 8 hours and no doubt shot up with some really good pain killers for a few days. The best I can hope for is a double dose of midol and the grace to keep my mouth shut.
Oh yes I did. I figure that I probably just shouldn't talk anymore. Probably shouldn't isn't the same as won't. It's just a sentiment. That is not really going to happen.
I may or may not have googled the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony as it relates to stealing your husband's prescription meds.
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