Hypochondriac

I have considered the possibility that maybe I am inventing all of this health nonsense so that I have an excuse not leave the house. It's plausible. This is the third weekend in a row that I've been house bound. And besides the early morning feline murder, not much has been going on here. I've been taking a lot of Vicodin which has had two side effects 1) my back doesn't hurt at all (I guess Choice Medical was right, I did need to explore more heavy duty narcotics) 2) I've been a little er, well, not regular, if you get my drift wink, wink. That's surely TMI, but it's the Vicodin. I looked it up. It was enough today that when the Big Guy asked me if he could bring me anything when he came over with my chicken soup (my mom didn't understand when I said I'm now a vegetarian who doesn't eat beans and sent a chicken soup with beans), I said, "Yeah, pick me up some juice and a pack of cigarettes." The Big Guy didn't say no, which normally means yes, so I was looking forward to a pack of cigarettes and learning what my dad's default brand was going to be. Marlboros? Camels? Lights? 100s? Something exotic? He showed up with prune juice and an apple/cherry juice. Guess he didn't think I was serious about the cigarettes, or maybe he just draws the line at buying his asthmatic daughter cigarettes no matter the medical necessity.

I made two quilts this weekend. They're small and unless someone gives me a damn good reason why all bindings should not be put on this way I am going to continue to bind my quilts like this. (The reason can not be: because that's not how quilters do it. That is not a good reason. I was a reason with statistics about how much stronger the quilt will be against the jaws of bad dogs. That's what I'm looking for.) The first one's a gift and second I'm going to hang up in the pink room, where I put the ugly dog quilt, which, by the way, Earl pushed into a ball before he slept on it this morning. He might be a viscous cat killer, but he knows what looks good.