The Best Laid Plans

So.

The official diagnosis after a visit to my friendly MD and an x-ray is degenerative osteoarthritis of the knee. I am taking a four-day run of steroids, the doctor's placebo for everything that ails me, and pain pills. I'm also applying those nifty little heat patches that last twelve hours to the affected knee, and I have to go see an orthopedist for a consult.

My joy knows no bounds.

And the name of the doctor? Dr. Orth. No joke. Dr. Orth the Orthopedist. What a hoot.

In other news, absolutely nothing else was accomplished last night other than prescription-filling and purchasing of rodent bait, steel wool, and various and sundry other items. And even the steel wool wasn't. It was the store brand of SOS pads, because nowhere in the whole of K-Mart was there a single box of steel wool and I wasn't stopping anywhere else.

In the end it didn't really matter anyway. As soon as I got home I ate a bowl of soup with the family, took pain meds and went to bed in my soup-stained t-shirt that is, thankfully, still a couple of sizes too big for me. Not much is these days.

Oh, the party never ends. I just never attend it.

We are in desperate need of a load of wood to burn in the fireplace. We're down to the dregs of the last load we purchased several years ago, and we're also almost done burning the last of the trees we had to have cut down after the tornado hit. To say we've been conservative is an understatement. However, it's come to the point where unless we get more to burn, there aren't going to be any more hotdog or marshmallow roasts this winter. No fannies will be warmed at the hearth. No flames will crackle merrily as I don't bake Christmas cookies and we don't decorate the tree.

Something must be done.

The snow for today has stopped, leaving us with the promise of warmer temperatures tomorrow just before the freezing rain comes in on Thursday. It's COLD here. I don't want to get out of my jammies, much less go Christmas shopping. At least I have a shepherd's pie waiting for dinner tonight in the fridge, and the promise of at least one fire in the fireplace while I don my t-shirt and sweatpants, prop up my knee, and avoid pain, housework, baking, and decorating. There may even be a little sangria in the fridge to celebrate my chosen immobility.

There's no telling what wonders the evening may hold. I could even get energetic and clean up more rodent droppings.

Then again...