I want Vietnamese food for dinner
I called my doctor's office to get my upper G.I. results this morning and found out he's on vacation this week, so that's why I hadn't gotten a call. AND, there's still no diagnosis--the only thing the test revealed is that my stomach is making a lot of acid, which, since I'm not experiencing much acid reflux, is pretty inconclusive. My guts have been feeling a bit better for the past couple of weeks, since I laid off drinking any alcohol again, but they're not back to normal, so I just don't know. My boss said she had similar symptoms for FIVE YEARS until someone got the idea to send her to the hospital in Yakima and make her drink a radioactive substance so they could see what her guts were doing. It turned out her gallbladder wasn't functioning really at all, so they removed it and now she's fine. But I have to say, I'd rather get a tube down my throat a couple dozen times than drink anything radioactive. My doctor will be back to work next Wednesday, so I'll wait to hear from him and see what he has to say.
This whole stupid guts business pales in comparison to what one of my favorite people is going through right now; I'm just so sad for her. It's not my story to tell, so I won't, but I can't stop thinking about her and her situation. And thinking about her makes me feel grateful to have met her and so many other amazing people through the Internet, so even though you have many flaws, Internet, I guess I won't shut you down just yet.
Last night I went to the Fred Meyer to try and find some cute clothes to wear for my Seattle weekend with Francisco, and I struck out very badly; it was kind of depressing. I managed to buy some new underpants and a tank top to sleep in, but MAN, I could not find a pair of jeans that fit right to save my life. I have bitched previously about how I don't know who pants are being made for, and I still wonder that, because it sure as hell isn't me. Also, many of the current fashions in shirts look abysmal on me, so all in all not my best shopping trip ever. I went home and ate a big sweet potato for dinner and called it a night.
And OH what a night it was! You know that cat that lives in my house...Esther, I think her name is? That cat can be such an asshole. She has taken to vigorously scratching the bedroom door (from the outside), EVEN THOUGH there is a hole cut through the door specifically for her and her sister to use as a door AND she is fully capable of using it. Conclusion: She is doing it to wake me up because she thinks I will then pet her. She woke me up thusly three times last night, and when you add in several other times she woke me up with her feeble attempts to get on the bed, you get one tired Eva. I am definitely getting her some kind of stairs or a step to use to get on the bed, because she is either incapable of jumping up anymore, or she THINKS she is, but in any case, I can't keep waking up and hoisting her fat ass onto the bed. I am being deprived of much needed REM sleep.
Okay, I'm going home now to finish packing my stuff and getting the cats set up for the weekend (Cookie is coming tomorrow to feed and poop scoop and etc), and then I'll start driving west. Yay!
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