A long week

It's been a week since I've written, (almost. Ok it's been 6 days. Who's counting? I am. I count).
It was an insane work-week, it's been insane for everyone, and tomorrow, (which is supposed to be, according to our weather people) a rainy day, I need to do some work-work here at home. That's how crazy work is right now. Factor in my vacation in less than three weeks (insert cartwheels and fireworks here) and I've got umm..alot to do and get done.

I saw the neurologist yesterday. And I tell you, with shy pride, albeit mixed with heavy regret, he seemed pretty fascinated with my case. With my crazy pupil. It's misshapen glory. (he confirmed it is now, in addition to being constricted, misshapen. I told him I was glad he saw it too because I thought that I'd started imagining things. He told me he wished he had a medical student with him).
Nothing really new except that my condition in terms of nerve damage remains the same. We don't know why yet. We will find out. After some other test that was described to me, one that I immediately forgot the name of. And, after typing out the whole series of events neatly for the doctor, along with a list of any and all medications and vitmains I take (I don't take any medications but I'm a vitamin junkie) I promptly also forgot to ask the one burning question I still have:

"Why?"

But it was not to be. What to be was that I got a tall Starbucks (there was a Starbucks right near his office), I made an awkward left turn while holding the phone talking to Mike in the car, and I spilled my coffee into the cupholder well. I was tense. And gunning to get to work. As I mentioned, it's busy.

Day passed by quickly.
I went home.
I went to my friend L.'s house to hang out and have dinner. We sat in her backyard, only after liberally spraying ourselves with mosquito repellant. The smell was the real repellant. 
I came home.
I went to bed.
I woke up early. AGAIN.

Oh well. I'm trying to look on the bright side (stop laughing).
1.  I've managed to clean my entire apartment (seriously, I haven't been able to do this in ages) and it looks neat and dust-free and all the dishes are put away and old magazines have been tossed, and the recycling has been put in the bin, and all the old mail has been ripped up and junked.
2.  I get so much done when I get up early. I don't know why. I'm not what could be described as even CLOSE to being a morning person. Never have been.
3.  It's a long weekend. There are no words.
4.  Even though I'm not allowed to run, I am going to look at this as an opportunity to walk, rest, and do other exercise (what is that I wonder?) and, pardon the pun, take it in stride.
5.  I had the chance to see the Olympic tennis on tv (women's singles) and watch Serena Williams deconstruct her opponent. It was beautiful.
6.  I finished reading "Blood, Bones, and Butter" by Gabrielle Hamilton, then read this amazing article, which summarized all my feelings about the last third of the book (the Butter part) and made me feel better about my insane curiosity about writers' personal lives. It IS warranted.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/stanton-peele/anantomy-of-gabrielle-ham_b_831979.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false

I'll talk more about Blood, Bones, and Butter in my next post but it did something that another book I recently finished, Wild, by Cheryl Strayed, another great memoir, did: It started out with prose and a storytelling style that I liken to sublime writing, all fuelled, as many of life's great achievements are fuelled, by struggle. And it careened along a crooked path to a sort-of disappointing finish. For Hamilton I hope the door was left open for a second book, and Strayed does have another one out now (not connected, but it looks like a good read). But it was an interesting parallel to read both these books in the same summer, weeks apart.

It's Saturday morning. My hair smells like mosquito repellant, I need a shower, and then I'm going for a walk. A fast one.

Happy (well-deserved) long weekend.