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Caturday Stuff
Apr. 2nd, 2011 02:51 pmI found three lost precious things today: A a chunk of clear quartz with a line of multi-colored tourmaline down the middle that I'd once worn as a pendant; and a pair of Seven brand jeans and a pair of Tommy Hilfiger brand jeans I'd bought at a thrift store a while back but couldn't fit into, and now I fit them.
Considering the standard retail prices of Seven jeans and Hilfiger jeans, I'm lucky to own them at all. The Seven jeans are so comfortable it's ridiculous. I hope find more at thrift stores. All my jeans need to be capri style, with the inseam between 24 and 26 inches in order to fall comfortably to my ankle. Usually I wind up shopping at thrift stores and even Ebay as long as the description is detailed. When I find a well-fitting pair of jeans I snatch them up like Gollum hoarding the One Ring. It really does matter, weirdly enough.
It's raining today. I'm fine with that; I have no plans to go out. Adam is on his way to New York City for a four-day job. He will be the brains rather than the brawn, and he took some Percocet and Aleve with him. He'll be home Wednesday night, the night of my birthday. That's fine. I was born at two minutes to midnight, so I tend to let my birthday celebration spill over into April 7th, because of those two minutes. Also I have plans! On Tuesday, my very best friend in the whole world, Beca, will come over and we will spend the day and night together and then my birthday together, while we wait for my husband to come home with Manhattan pizza. Then, the Saturday after, Beca will take me to a burger restaurant in Dupont Circle called BGR The Burger Joint. She'd gone last week and ate The Wellington Burger, and she brought me the menu, and now I am salivating over The Wellington. I love a good burger so much.
I am still in a flare. It is insane. But I expected it. I have medications and exercises at the ready.
I haven't heard from my disability lawyer since the middle of March, when I learned I was denied and could appeal. I am assuming he is doing what he needs to do to help my case. He had told me early on that I might not hear from him regularly. But I have been feeling so impatient and ram-headed lately, and I just want to know what's going on.
Everything will work out. I know it will. I had a very strange dream last night: I was in a small empty courtroom with my husband and an older man I couldn't quite see, but who was very comforting. I was shakily, sobbingly babbling and rambling at a judge about my disabilities and health issues. The judge finally waved a hand at me and said, "It's all right, honey, it's okay, I approve, relax. You don't have to be so nervous. I approve." I don't know if this is some sort of premonition or just wishful thinking. But it's still strong in my mind hours after I've woken up. It must mean something.
Considering the standard retail prices of Seven jeans and Hilfiger jeans, I'm lucky to own them at all. The Seven jeans are so comfortable it's ridiculous. I hope find more at thrift stores. All my jeans need to be capri style, with the inseam between 24 and 26 inches in order to fall comfortably to my ankle. Usually I wind up shopping at thrift stores and even Ebay as long as the description is detailed. When I find a well-fitting pair of jeans I snatch them up like Gollum hoarding the One Ring. It really does matter, weirdly enough.
It's raining today. I'm fine with that; I have no plans to go out. Adam is on his way to New York City for a four-day job. He will be the brains rather than the brawn, and he took some Percocet and Aleve with him. He'll be home Wednesday night, the night of my birthday. That's fine. I was born at two minutes to midnight, so I tend to let my birthday celebration spill over into April 7th, because of those two minutes. Also I have plans! On Tuesday, my very best friend in the whole world, Beca, will come over and we will spend the day and night together and then my birthday together, while we wait for my husband to come home with Manhattan pizza. Then, the Saturday after, Beca will take me to a burger restaurant in Dupont Circle called BGR The Burger Joint. She'd gone last week and ate The Wellington Burger, and she brought me the menu, and now I am salivating over The Wellington. I love a good burger so much.
I am still in a flare. It is insane. But I expected it. I have medications and exercises at the ready.
I haven't heard from my disability lawyer since the middle of March, when I learned I was denied and could appeal. I am assuming he is doing what he needs to do to help my case. He had told me early on that I might not hear from him regularly. But I have been feeling so impatient and ram-headed lately, and I just want to know what's going on.
Everything will work out. I know it will. I had a very strange dream last night: I was in a small empty courtroom with my husband and an older man I couldn't quite see, but who was very comforting. I was shakily, sobbingly babbling and rambling at a judge about my disabilities and health issues. The judge finally waved a hand at me and said, "It's all right, honey, it's okay, I approve, relax. You don't have to be so nervous. I approve." I don't know if this is some sort of premonition or just wishful thinking. But it's still strong in my mind hours after I've woken up. It must mean something.
