Sep. 28th, 2011

I am in bed with my electric blanket turned on, my laptop positioned optimally in my lap to counteract chills, and a large cup of cheap bag tea, because the kitchen's too cold for me to stand in it long enough to brew loose stuff. The nausea and sensation that there's a cold golf ball lodged against the lower left of my uterus have faded.

I went to the gynecologist yesterday and she gave me a prescription for a three-month pill. I assume that this is my body getting revenge while it can. SCREW YOU, I CAN TRANSCRIBE PEOPLE'S BEWILDERING HANDWRITTEN LISTS OF PERSONAL PROPERTY DAMAGES JUST AS WELL LIKE THIS.

A few minutes ago, through my window, I saw the oldest of the neighbor kids bring out their new puppy, which is 1/2 to 1/3 the size of any one of their cats, and has a head so wildly disproportionate to its body that I'm amazed it can hold it up.

Naturally, Dad's Saint Bernard had to rush out there and start barking at it. She weighs about a hundred and ten pounds, and the puppy can't be more than eight or nine. I'm amazed she can even recognize it as a member of her own species. I got out of bed to bring her back in, and authorized the girl to scold Dad's dog for him: "If she ever does that again, just tell her, "Foofy! Bad!""

"Okay. Thank you," she said timidly. She'd picked the puppy up and backed far away from the fence. I don't think she's going to yell at the dog.

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