My third or fourth Christmas dinner at the Home, a silver bullet, please.
My dentist's visit and everything is fine.
Pathology after an 8 hour fast. Yes, drink water, you can drink water but not with fluid tablets even if you don't take them today.
One of life's stupid rules. Busting for a loo which the pathology place has but everything dries up as soon as the receptionist says, "fill this". Obviously I hadn't drunk enough and I know that "Neon" colours are in this year but that bottle was almost glowing. Nothing like watching blood drain away into little vials and know it's done for another six months.
So that's two vital jobs for me done for me. Only the diabetes review and the podiatrist.
Does Mother remember?
She does remember Rainbow fundraiser for tomorrow and has given me several instructions which I have ignored.
She has also reminded me of the Ladies Hat parade on Oaks Day. Not going.
Also not going to Farm Animals Day.
Impossible to get out of going to Christmas Party though or Christmas dinner.
The list of blogs I can't comment at is growing daily so I am reading just not leaving my usual witty comments/abuse. The only thing I can do is to read blogs with IE which lets me comment and switch back to Firefox. A real pain in the butt. Google has become incompatible with Firefox and won't even let me have a Google toolbar. Usually you can't get rid of Google toolbar. There is a way of making it do what I want but unless I suddenly become a computer genius, it's a no go.
Diet, oh don't even ask. After the meltdown at the Home with the fairycake aftermath, I resolved to be really good, so good my BGL dropped to 3.8 and that brought on a sweet dose of the shakes. Overcompensated and it went soaring up, still with the shakes.
Panic attacks, only the usual 2 or 3 a day leading up to the Christmas stress when it becomes habitual for me to hide under the bed hugging the dust bunnies for comfort.
The tomato plants and the banana chilli are still sitting in water where I left them 3 weeks ago. They seem to be happy so I'm reluctant to give them a pot plant filled with dirt, no fancy schmancy potting mix going to waste here since I doubt I'll beat the possums to any fruit they produce. I'd really like to have green fingers and produce my own veggies but death and destruction seems to follow wherever I linger in the garden. Another week in the water won't kill them.
I'd love to say I'll bring you a full report of tomorrow's fun and games but I'm hoping to drink two glasses of wine and not remember anything just like Mother.