SNAFU

Yes, I know most of you know another, better breakdown for this acronym. Keep in mind this journal is rated “PG” and we don’t use “fucked up” in here.

I got my echocardiogram a few hours ago. In the spirit of “It’s a Small World After All,” my tech turned out to be someone I knew from high school. This turned out to be a great advantage, because that fact on top of the fact I’m a veterinarian encouraged her to talk to me about what she was finding while she was doing the study. She’s not the person who does the final reading (that will be some cardiologist) but she certainly knows normal from abnormal. And it turns out that my heart is pretty much normal.

There are a few inevitable changes from my illness five years ago, but there really weren’t any signs of heart disease that would result in the symptoms I’m seeing at the moment. This, of course, is good news. The bad news is that we still don’t know what’s wrong with me if this is the case. Which leads me back to SNAFU. Apparently, my systems check out pretty much normal, but things are still messed up.

In other news, the Socialist got word back on his car yesterday, and it was actually good news. The repairs will cost less than thought, and he should have his new car back no later than next Monday. He actually seemed somewhat pleased with the way things were going last night, although it might be a bit of a show to pacify me since I snapped at him over the weekend about his non-stop negativity. Well, show or not, I’m perfectly happy to accept it at face value.

I’m supposed to meet up with the ex tomorrow to exhange hostages: he has more mail for me (junk mail, I’m sure … I wish he’d just throw it away, but he won’t) and I received a package that should have gone to his attention but came to mine instead. The ex apparently placed an order with a supply company for something for the ponies. The supply company also sells veterinary supplies, and when they saw the last name they must have arbitrarily decided to send it to my address instead of his instead. You can see where they slapped a label with my address on it over top the the correct address label. Go figure.

There’s a pile of free coffee cakes and cookies from the vending machine over in the break room. Apparently they’re all out of date, so the vending company removed them from the machine and set them out on the table as free to all takers. I’m hungry for lunch for the first time in weeks today. I think I’ll wander over and take advantage of the situation.