Cleolinda Jones (cleolinda) wrote,
Cleolinda Jones

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Heathcliff, It's me, I'm Cathy

I was going to write this big cathartic narrative entry about what happened last night, but I didn't, and now I'm tired. In a nutshell:

We had dinner at the Olive Garden for Mom's birthday, where she managed to blurt out something about one of my [paternal] cousins having had "an affair with a professor," which isn't strictly true--J. told me at the time that it hadn't gone that far, but I'm no expert on the subject--but Sister Girl had never heard of this before, and gets very upset when people "don't tell her things." Never mind that she was about twelve at the time, and J. and I were both in college, and J. didn't want anyone to know. I told my mother some months later, because she isn't very involved with that branch of the family anyway and blah blah blah can of worms, open there on the dinner table.

We get home. Mom and George turn on American Idol. Sammy [white pomeranian] proceeds to have a seizure. That's right: the contestants were so bad, they nearly killed my dog. Mom starts freaking out and claiming he had a stroke right there in front of us. After much dithering and freaking out and having me consult my panel of veterinary experts (vet student, vet's daughter, vet via vet's daughter), they do end up taking Sam to the emergency clinic, where yet a fourth opinion is added to the Probably Was a Seizure pot. They come home. "That was not a very nice present to give your Mommy," Mom babytalks to Sam. Sometime before 11 pm, we light the candles on her birthday cake.

My wisdom teeth are killing me. Generally Aleve has knocked out the pressure in my jaw, but today a section of gum became inflamed. Again. You know, that kind of itchy/painful feeling like when your wisdom teeth are cutting through? That. And I've bitten my tongue and/or cheek in three different places. My appointment to finally have my wisdom teeth out, after ten years of clinging to them for old times' sake, is at the end of March. In the meantime, I pain.

Ended up cram-reading all of The Blithedale Romance today for class. I liked it--it's much more accessible than The Scarlet Letter, which I still liked anyway. Have decided to steal the lesser-known identity of a minor character to use as homage in Black Ribbon (when you see a forger named Fauntleroy, you'll know why). Am very pleased with the way seminar is going--has been very useful for Black Ribbon.

Lucky Dog is very depressed, because the back door is sealed off and he can't go play with his possum and his rooster in the back yard. The deck has been torn down and is being rebuilt, and currently there's a fifteen-foot drop from the back door to the yard. He just sits with his nose against the door; it's very sad. It'll take two weeks, apparently, but everyone knows that you multiply construction time by three, if you're lucky. This is apparently why Sam had his seizure, by the way--stress brought on by the house-shaking clamor of the deck being torn down and all the strange men in his yard.

There are several other mundane things I could record (leftover Chicago deep-dish, Sister Girl's strained dinner date with Dad, my plan to finally put Days of Our Lives back on the straight and narrow), but I'm tired, so I won't. Playing Neoquest II until the Aleve kicks in and I can sleep. Fnarr.
Tags: black ribbon, books, health, house of bark, lucky, sam, school, wisdom teeth

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