Monday, February 06, 2006

I’m beginning to think that I need to stop telling coworkers about things in my life outside of work. The reason isn’t one borne of guilt, or inappropriateness, or even anti-social behavior (though that one is closing in on 2nd place). The true reason is I’m just tired of having to
A) repeat the same story 30 times; and
B) having to reply, “no, nothing’s happened yet.”

ManThing and I decided to put the house up for sale; and I unwisely asked around the office for a recommendation on a real estate agent. This brought upon an onslaught of people asking if I’d used their agent; was the house on the market yet; why were we selling; where were we moving; and, “don’t you want to keep your tax break?” Almost a month later, we still don’t have it on the market, yet the questions keep coming; and I have to continue to answer, “no, nothing’s happened yet.”

Then there’s Days of Our Leg (cue sweeping violin music) saga. I am becoming accustomed to the annoyance of having to wait a month after anything of relevance occurring with the course of my treatment. Go to doctor, wait a month. Go get imaging test, wait a month. Find out what kind of surgery I’ll have, wait a month for it to be scheduled. Unfortunately, nobody else knows this is the routine- so I get the questions. My reply, “no, nothing’s happened yet.”

Now, in my ongoing streak of luck, I am wearing a wrist splint because I have a ganglion cyst in my right hand. I don’t have to even tell anybody about this problem to get the questions; because, like the cane, it’s an outwardly apparent symbol of another injury/ disability/ pain in my ass. So I tell the story- 30 times.

Have I snapped and killed anyone?

No, nothing’s happened yet.

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