Chicks-n-Scratching

Sounds sexy, but it’s not. It’s about my upcoming surgery. Yes, into every life some surgical intervention must fall. This one, not so bad. Not like when I had the gallbladder out. Then I was sick enough to threaten the surgeon that I was going to take the fucker out myself with a kitchen knife if I couldn’t get an appointment. I was very desperate.

This time, I just need to have whatever adjustment they make for carpel tunnel syndrome. Not really the most joyous of diagnoses when one is a writer, but still not a horrible one either. I’ll get the work done and be right as rain. No problem. The part that is upsetting is that two surgeries in three years makes me feel as if I’m wearing out. Hell, I’m only 44. Not even mid-forties and already it starts. It could be worse, but I’m glad it’s not. (And no that is not an inivitation for all kinds of calamity- it’s just an observation.)

However, before I have the surgery I have several books I need to finish. I’ll be jacked-up for a couple weeks before I’ll be able to type with anything but my right hand. Thank God they both didn’t need it at this time. Whew!

So, why can’t we have a body farm where new things are grown and when you need a new one they just go to the part of the grove where your needed part is grown and pluck one off. Need a kidney or spleen, no problem. They’re down there by the stream. Need a new liver or knee cap. We have an endless supply. OH SHIT.  A plot bunny just crossed my path. Great, just great.

So how is everyone else doing?

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