If we were having coffee, you might notice that I was eyeing the cup rather warily. I haven’t touched coffee in a week (note here that this is not a metaphor, but represents a thing that is actually happening as I’m typing this) and I’m hoping that this cup isn’t going to trigger the shakes and shivers like my last cup did, because if it does the next post really is going to have to be called Weekend Milk Share.
(Drinks 1/3 of cup, initially feels fine)
Anyway, I took my blood pressure last night with my new blood pressure cuff, which is a thing that I have now, and it was firmly in the “prehypertensive” range, which isn’t necessarily good but is hella improved over the holy shit you’re gonna die range of a couple of weeks ago. I’ve lost nine pounds in August, too. So… getting better.
Sooner or later we’d get around to talking about school. The first week went well. Too
And then– right there, that exact second, as I’m about to post something positive for once, in a month that has been almost nothing but stress and negativity and bullshit since the second it started, my wife’s elderly cat tumbles off of the arm of the chair we’re both sitting in onto the floor in a massive seizure.
It’s about two and a half hours later. He’s gone.
Fuck you, August. Fuck. You.