Back to the grind.
That’s the bad thing about the holidays. They have this annoying tendency to end before you’ve given them permission to. And so yesterday I found myself back behind my desk, wondering what happened to my lovely day off. It doesn’t help that I have to work tomorrow. Christmas is over, the weekend is truncated, and it’s nearly time to throw myself a pity party.
Speaking of parties, the woman who asked me when the baby was due at The Socialist’s department Christmas party has sent The Socialist and me an invitation to a party at her house in late January. It’s a “Hoogie Party”. I have been notably unsuccessful in discovering what a hoogie is. There is a rather popular Scottish band that goes by that name. There is some famous swimmer who goes by the nickname of “Hoogie”. There is some Cajun song called “The Hoogie Boogie”. I doubt any of this has anything to do with the party, however. I wondered if she simply misspelled “hoagie” (aka “hogie) but the card is quite neatly printed, and I think it unlikely that it’s a mistake. When The Socialist returns from the west coast I shall have to nag him into finding out from her husband exactly what this is, and what, if anything, is expected from us when we come.
In other news, I got my new MELD score, based on my most recent blood tests. I’m still at 18, which is unchanged from the last score. I suppose I should take this as good news, since it indicates that I’m holding my own and not getting any sicker. I almost wish my MELD were getting larger, though. The thought of spending years looking like an egg with toothpicks for arms and legs is rather dismaying. It’s only been a little over five months since I was told I’d need a transplant, and less time since I’ve officially been listed, so I don’t know what I’m getting so impatient about. I think most of it is vanity. Shopping for superfat clothes is a blow to the ego, regardless of why I need them. Going out into public places looking like a zeppelin in search of a tether is a blow to the ego. Looking at myself in the mirror is one hell of a blow to the ego. OK, let’s all say it in chorus together now:
heh heh – At least I have prominent cheekbones now. They suit my face.
Wednesday, at the urging of my sister, I left all my presents at her house. Since the weather was so bad, it made sense to deal with boxes and bags at a later date. The Younger Sister offered to bring them over to my apartment on Saturday for me. On impulse, I invited her and the Elder Sister to dinner, and they accepted. What was I thinking? I work on Saturday. The place needs to be cleaned. I have to go shopping to get dinner ingredients. I have to COOK! Ack! Ack! Ack!
I spent my break this morning trying to come up with a low sodium recipe that looked edible. I ended up with what looks like a decent recipe for chicken cacciatore. I already have most of the ingredients at home, though I’ll need to get the chicken. I’ll make it tonight, and just reheat it tomorrow. Serve over rice, make a salad, and I’m there. The cacciatore recipe only has 707 mg sodium in it total, and it feeds eight, so if this works I’ll have found a definite keeper. If it doesn’t work, I’ll send out for pizza for the sisters and eat the salad myself