So I go into the hospital totally psyched for radioactive treatment, fortified by weeks of soul-searching, childcare brainstorming, internet research. Hell, I even had someone organised to take the dog who, as long as he lives, will never grasp the idea of not being within patting distance of me, and who I had visions of glowing like Casper the Ghost after an evening by my side.
All this magnificent preparation, and my specialist puts me back on the meds, instead.
Oh man, anything but the pills. I hate the pills. They make me fat. And slow.
They work, however. My heart is no longer attempting to exit my rib cage, which is a Good Thing. Apparently, the radiation may or may not come later, for those of you who've been kind enough to ask.
My endocrinologist also informs me, in an exhaustive consultation, that intimacy is crucial to good health, and that I really should consider dating. I sit there, rather confused, searching frantically in my mind for a causal link between celibacy and thyro-toxicity. I don't find one, probably because it doesn't exist.
So I ask him if he's married, and of course he is and has been, blissfully, for 25 years.
Which confirms what I already know; that the Lovely Paul, with his endearing Einstein hairdo and cool-but-not-cold-hands, knows sweet fuck all about being alone. If he did, he would already understand that the bane of a sole parent's existence occurs when one of their well-meaning-but-bumbleheaded-friends tries to fix them up on a blind date with their accountant/hairdresser/recently-divorced-parent-of-their-6-year-old's-best-friend. Or tells them that they need to get out more and meet men. I swear, it makes me want to join a nunnery. To me, it's as offensive as telling one of my married friends that they really should consider having an affair, lest they expire from smugness.
He meant well enough, and it beats the hell out of a doctor who makes you wait 4 hours for a 5 minute consultation - I had a 5 minute wait, an hour's consultation and, for the most part, a rollicking good time - and, assuming my mojo hasn't completely forsaken me, I s'pose I could walk into a bar, pick up some complete stranger and bring him home to meet my teenage daughter.
But I'm currently sharing my bed with a Major Quilt Operation, and can't possibilty accomodate an extra body until after 2010.
Oh, and here's this week's mosaic, because it is Monday, after all and hey, it's not like I'm busy having sex or anything.
1. NH Sheep and Wool, 2. Sweden, 3. 'Hour 2' close, 4. Untitled, 5. Midday Flop, 6. doilies, 7. 2dollar, 8. constant, 9. Untitled, 10. circles, 11. inourparisapartment, 12. Proclaim your love elsewhere...., 13. Untitled, 14. crazy pickets, 15. the weekend, 16. Exit, 17. Closeup, 18. COLLABORATION with Shawna Handke, 19. 365:92 cupcake week, 20. Handhelds: Binky Buddy No.17, 21. eggs, 22. lamby lucha libre, 23. Sheep, 24. Isabel Marant, 25. We Went Whale Watch'n