~ A scene from my last walk ~

Tuesday, 12:43 p.m.

It has snowed more since that picture, and been 20 below. On the night of Halloween, I put on a fur hat and the long mink coat Aunt Ava gave me. I’d be ready to accompany Barney should he want to trick or treat longer than his buddies, who hadn’t dressed for the cold. My costume? Rich Bitch.

It’s his 11th birthday tomorrow. We have to go into town to buy a present. I’ll dump the birthday boy off for a while with Farmbeau, who is gyprocking a house. Then I’ll take him to pick out his requested ice cream cake.

He will probably like it if I put myself at his beck and call all day tomorrow, and what do you want to bet I spend the whole time playing Crash Bandicoot or Spryo or another of these inane Playstation games that bore the hell out of me and all sound the same. But it’s once a year. I think I can live through it.

Fortunately, we are taking him and Don out for supper to celebrate the birthday, so I’ll have a reprieve before going nuts.

My incoming email is not getting through, and neither I nor the telephone tech guy can figure out why. So, all ye legions of writing readers, ask not why I don't reply. I have not received!

I am still coughing and hacking -- doc thinks it's postnasal drip and gave me nose spray and some goo to put into my nostrils with a q-tip. I hope she's right and that's what it is -- I am tired of feeling like shit. Kept both Farmbeau and myself awake past one in the morning, until I couldn't stand it and thought of taking some cough syrup.

And I have to go for a fucking mammogram in the city on Monday. Another lump. Damn it to hell.

Tub time.

xoxoetc
~ Kate