Little things mean a lot

I must remember that.

A former secretary, a woman I haven't spoken to in years, friended me on Facebook. Our lives are so different now that we have nothing in common and she's always been just kind of peripheral.

Tonight, when scrolling down through messages from my "friends," something she posted caught my eye. She was begging for a positive sign, anything. So I wrote something about her being nice and deserving nice things. Blah blah. It was nothing.

It meant so much to her that I'm embarrassed. It only takes a moment to be thoughtful. I must do it more often.

Did I mention I'm seeing Sir Paul?

This morning I told my boss that something is going on with my kidneys, I need more tests, and so I'm adding a day to my vacation next week. He was nice about it.

Then I got home and listened to a message from my doctor. The test she ran Wednesday morning came back negative, which is both good and bad. I'm glad no icky, virulent bladder infection turned up. On the other hand, it would be nice if we knew what is causing my twinges and discomfort.

So now I have ultrasounds this coming Wednesday. I'm not happy. The prep is unpleasant. But it's a hurdle that has to be gotten over.

Next weekend, when all this is behind me -- on July 31 and August 1 -- I'm seeing my beloved Sir Paul! At my beloved Wrigley Field, no less. I'll just focus on that.



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Hear me roar

Today I got a ton of work done, came home, did a couple loads of wash and swam for 15-20 minutes. (I'm not sure because I really can't see the clock clearly from the pool without my glasses or contacts.) I feel quite accomplished. Strong. Invincible! WOMAN!

Fat woman, but woman nevertheless. And I won't be fat forever. I won't. I don't accept it as my fate.