In Which there is Whining

Unless you want to see a picture of the CD the tech gave me after my MRI, I got nothin' to show from my visit to the imaging center. 

Hammy has been unusally evil, and Doc sent it - and me, of course - off for an MRI.  If it develops that there is nothing highly evil going on, the next step is time with a TENs unit and massage.  I'm kind of excited about that.  Pain relief and massage.  Please!  Yes!  I want!

Otherwise....  The Unknown.  Do not like.  Do not want.  Am scared of.

And meanwhile, the hamstring is sooooooo tender and painful.  Gentle stretches hurt.  And day to day stuff is killer. 

Pushing the vac or sweeping is very uncomfy making.  When something drops on the floor, there it is.  I say to it, "Be at peace, annoying little widgit.  No one will molest you.  You may lay on the floor until I see if the kid down the road feels like coming over and picking you up."  The dropped widgit tends to just lay there and say nothing.

I can sew, but not for very long at a time.  Pushing the foot pedal results in a mild hamstring stretch.  Apparently living results in a mild hamstring stretch.

My little pal Gershwin

keeps me company and makes soothing little crooning sounds.  That's nice.  And my DH, the lovely, lovely man, drives me places, picks up stuff off the floor, and says Comforting Things.  (He can't vacuum, he has 2 bum knees.  Apparently we were not home when the guy from the Extended Warrantee Office came around.  We didn't get one.  It was a bad move.)

So just pet my head and tell me nice things.