Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,
I have been busy filling out forms, filing forms, downloading forms, emailing forms, mailing forms . . . have I missed anything that can be done with forms? And I have more to do. Early this afternoon I have an important appointment that will lead to more forms, I'm sure, and I'm already aware of other decisions that must be made that will lead to––what? FORMS!
At least it keeps me off the streets.
I saw an ad for a movie on the Hallmark Channel titled The Curious Caterer, but I thought it said The Curious Catheter. That made me laugh.
I have another boo-boo, but not all bloody like the last time (the link is to the post with the bloody wound in case you didn't see it the first time around and you're wondering what I'm talking about). If the sight of boo-boos turns your stomach, though, scroll down real quick past the photos below with your eyes closed. When you open your eyes maybe you'll be on someone else's blog and you'll have completely missed The Wound of The Week, kind of like when there used to be The Movie of The Week. Boy, that was a long time ago. Anypaw, Princess caused this wound. She is not allowed to paw at me because, of course, her paws are large and very rough. Her nails can be sharp.
Princess is a very good girl, but sometimes we all make mistakes. On Sunday, Princess put her paw on my left arm and before I could say Princess, no, which is the standard thing to say according to her training, or remove the paw, she cut a line near the crook of my elbow like a kid who had joined a '50s style gang and had pulled her shiv on me. I don't remember what I said. I didn't yell at her. I might have said holy shit or something else equally intelligent because it hurt. She knew something bad had happened and hopped down from the couch to watch me from the dining room. She had the worried look on her face that dogs get when they know something bad has happened and they're involved but they don't know what's wrong so all they can do is look like they wanna say holy shit, too. So we were both distressed.
I washed the wound and band-aided it. Here it is Monday with and without the band-aids.
It's still a little sore, but no big deal.
See how the one without band-aids has a shadow on it so those of you with queasy stomachs won't have to rush off to barf? I tell ya, I can come up with some pretty fancy photography when necessary.
Steve Reed at Shadows & Light wishes he could take pictures as good as mine.
My wounds probably look much worse than they really are because my skin is made out of tissue paper. It rips, turns red, and bruises if I barely bump in to anything. That's because I'm a decrepit, old person.
Except I'm not all that decrepit. It bugs me when I watch a movie and somebody retires at 65 and the character is hobbling around, barely able to do anything, can't use a computer, can't remember anything. Bullshit! I left 65 behind a while back and other than the occasional back trouble, I'm pretty crepit (crepit isn't a word, but it might be added to the dictionary if we start using it regularly). I can't afford a yard service, so I mow my own yard. I have two big ole dogs who depend on me.
AND I have forms to fill out!
Princess told the truth when she wrote about our official adoption of her "gest," whose name is, indeed, Alice. We'll be providing more information about Alice soon. She has her first appointment with Dr. G. coming up. Alice will need doggy chill pills because she is terrified of people. She is the most frightened dog I have ever cared for.
I might need chill pills to get through her appointment, too. Maybe I should share with Dr. G.
Talk to ya soon.
Oh! Wait a minute! I almost forgot to say there's no such thing as a fucking Lake America. IT'S LAKE ONTARIO. That moron in D.C. does this stupid shit because it distracts people from the serious shit he's doing, like getting members of our armed forced injured and even killed for no damn reason. STOP MESSING WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL FRIENDS IN CANADA.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
