Full of Settimana food and half a bottle of wine...'twas a nice evening. KT and I agreed to force each other out of the house on a regular basis. And yet...while we sat at the bar and (at her request, God bless her) I recounted my tale of woe...I was on the verge of tears. More horrifying than that: I actually considered sending a message tonight...but thankfully thought better of it.
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Unrelated source of irritation: the more I think about the way my health options were presented to me yesterday, the more I want to punch a hole in the wall. Or in the head of the smug internist with whom I met.
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Neglected to write about my truly bizarre dream of this morning: I was staying in a really opulent hotel in a city somewhere, and my friends were waiting downstairs for me. I was in this hotel room where I'd apparently been living for a while, trying to gather up all my belongings so I could go. I kept finding more things I wanted to keep and kept picking things up until my arms were aching under the load. I finally headed down this marble staircase into the lobby and my friends had left. A bellhop offered to get the door for me, and then he followed me out onto the street, dogging me for a tip. Out of nowhere, Christine M., rode by on a bicycle and told me my friends were in front of the hotel calling my name. Then I woke up.
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Who knows what kind of subconscious delights will be unleashed under the influence of fettucini verde and a half-bottle of good Italian wine??? I am afraid to go to sleep.
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