So I’ve relocated to WordPress; not ‘cos I wanted to.
I was terribly attached to Movable Type, despite the fact that was starting to suck a whole lot, what with not improving over the years.
I put up with the suck because, unlike, for instance, Diaryland, I had serious fucking support for my blog on MT.
However, when I say support, I mean Nrem, and when I mean Nrem, I mean someone who is not made of money, and they are starting to want a lot of it from her.
She told me a bunch.
I don’t have a bunch.
I have some, which, as it turns out, is about ten percent of a bunch, or, not enough to even make a dent.
So here I am, and while it will be nice to not have to write code from scratch all the time, I feel a bit like I’m having an affair with real text and cheating on HTML.
In other news, That Man of Mine took me to a buffet the other day and he did not have any carbs at all till dessert, at which point he had a piece of no-sugar-added pie. It’s good to know he has enough will power to resist the all-you-can-eat pasta if needed.
We haven’t yet tried him on stopping at a single slice of pizza. Baby steps.
My rheumatologist is seriously hot.
No, that’s not what I meant to say. Actually, my rheumatologist is tall, and Irish, and older, and seriously hot, sort of like my favorite actor, only with a medical degree.
No, that’s still not what I meant to say. I got distracted by the Irish. Sorry.
I meant, my rheumatologist is ordering another fucking panel of labs, because I have what he described as “inflammation through the roof” but not due either to lupus or rheumatoid arthritis.
He thinks it could be from the Hashimoto’s Syndrome, but my endocrinologist, who is about as opposite to tall, Irish, and male as possible (North African, actually) says my thyroid is stable. Hence, more labs.
I’m a bit concerned that my oncologist is going to wind up involved in this picture, but I refuse to borrow trouble.
Anyway, I’m done with my ferric gluconate infusions, but I really liked my lab techs over there (and they really loved the cookies that Kari kept sending over), so if my oncologist does get involved, at least I’ll get to visit them again, right?
Sorry. I did say I wouldn’t borrow trouble, didn’t I?
Also, I won’t know if the iron took at all till I get more labs, so I could wind up getting more infusions anyway. They know to put the heat pack on my wrist or risk never finding a vein at all, and they know that I prefer the dark blue co-flex tape for my IV owie, to match my favorite time-machine.
Also, the burning in my legs has come back. I hope the pain specialist will agree to shoot up my back again. I still have penguin bandaids for my epidurals if needed.
Didn’t mean to spend this much time talking about my health, but, shit, there’s no other news in my life. I work, I sleep, I go to the fucking doctor. It’s like that.
drinking: ice water
listening to: Fleetwood Mac, The Chain
craving: crinkly fries