My knee hurts still. It’s worse today than it was yesterday. I’m sitting here at work with ice on my knee trying to find a comfortable position to type in. I haven’t found one yet. Maybe if I move it this way… nope… this way? Nope, not that either. Maybe I should give up. Oh wait, I can’t. I have meetings this afternoon I can’t skip. I hope they don’t mind the grumpy tired me, because that’s what they’re getting. There will be no pleasantries when you ask me to squeeze 100 hours worth of work into 32. It can’t happen. Really, it can’t.
I see the doctor on Friday. It’s not an orthopedist, but I’m hoping I can convince him just to order the MRI. I don’t want to schedule yet another doctor’s appointment, wait three more weeks, etc, when I could find out next week if I’m going to have to have surgery again. This is all so damned frustrating. I think you may not hear from me much in the next week or so. I haven’t been sleeping well; work is nuts (rhino-style, not acorns); this whole knee thing is pissing me off. So, anything I have to say would probably be less than edifying, uplifting, interesting or funny in any way.
That, of course, is subject to change. Well, and Jen promised a big long post-Buffy essay that she said I could post here… if she does that, it’ll show up.