I've tried about 15 times to go lie down and get to sleep, but I can't seem to get there, so I thought it was time for another long-awaited episode of open letters to whomever I think of next. Ready? Set? Go!
Happy 72nd birthday! Thank you for being such an inspiring and informative woman, but, more to the point, thank you for giving birth to the one and only true love of my life. He, and thus you, are the source of all happinesses I have experienced in the past eleven years.
May it be a blessed, fantastic year ahead for you.
Dear Sheriff Who Pulled Me Over on the Way Home From the Hospital Tonight,
You kick big butt. Thank you for letting me off with a warning, after I blocked an intersection in my hurry to get home and pick up the kids from Jenny From The Block's house. It was the best possible thing that could have happened today, other than not getting pulled over at all. But, since I was going 65 in a 40 on the way to the hospital earlier, I'm lucky, grateful, and glad.
Not The Best Driver (But Don't Tell My Husband I Admitted It) (or my insurance co.)
P.S. Thank you, too, to the nice lady who let me back in the crazy Effingham-to-tunnel traffic instead of making me sit there 'til Kingcom Come. You rock, too.
Dear Cavernous Angioma in My Husband's Cerebellum,
Oh hai. Go away. You freak me out, you cause me untold amounts of stress, and I am terrified you're going to start bleeding and make all sorts of trouble we don't even know is possible yet. Thanks for being benign and stuff, but since that doesn't necessarily mean you're not harmful, I use the word "thanks" loosely. Now. Hie thee away and don't come back.
The Frantic Wife
P.S. Take all those lecunar infarctious dotty-spotties with you, eh?
Dear BFF a.k.a. Dr. Lisa a.k.a. "House,"
Thank you. If it weren't for you and your smrats, I wouldn't have insisted Rob come home from work last Friday and get to the ER, and who knows what may have happened if he hadn't? I love you, I love you, and I love you.
I'm glad you're alive. Of course I am. But I'm even more glad that, despite your strokes-or-whatever-they-are, benign brain tumor, and other cranial ailments, you're here for me to laugh with and enjoy. Remember that time you were in the hospital room with three other guys ranging from you to the quiet guy next door to the skirt-chasing Senior with whom you used to work to the gin-craving O5, and you wanted me to close the curtain so I could do naughty things to you? I wish I had. You totally deserved it. Hee. I'll getcha later. ;)
Facebook is for sharing important information, like the fact that your husband is going through the above-mentioned crises, so that the people who care can find out and, hopefully, pray. Having a stroke is not "too private an issue" to share there, IMHO. Also, have you met me? Few things are relegated to that category in my world. Also, pbbbbttthhh.
Your Disagreeing but Loving Daughter
Dear Current Doily On Which I Toil,
You're ugly, and your mama dresses you funny. As soon as I get back to you, I'm ripping you out. It might hurt, but I will be ruthless and relentless in doing so. Besides, you were meant for greater things. No, no, don't cry, it wasn't meant to be. We shall meet again, on a more suitable project. In the meantime, back to the bin you'll go.
Dear Cold From Which I Currently Suffer,
You SUCK. NOW?! Really? I needed you now? You SUCK!!
In Kleenex' Name,
Dear Hospital Kleenex,
I appreciate your three-ply softness and strength, but what is UP with that awful smell? I mean, you're meant for noses, albeit stuffy ones, so maybe come up with a non-disgusting odor for those of us who have to use you sixteen hundred times while visiting patients. Also, what's up with the design on the INSIDE ply? What purpose does that serve? Inquiring minds want to know.
Prefers Puffs Plus
Dear OOPSY on Hanging With Friends,
I beat you once. I'll do it again. It might take me another six months, but consider yourself warned.
The One Who Beat You Once Out of 75 Games :P
Dear Jenny From The Block,
Thank you for keeping my babes for me so I could visit Rob-Bobbert in the hospital. You're made of Awesomesauce, as our fellow Turtle, Donny, would say. That is all. You know I loves ya, girlfriend. Now drive safely on up to H, and be fearless in dealing with her son. You can do eet!
P.S. I hope you get to watch her surgery!!
That's all I can think of for now, and they're completely different that the 19 or so I've composed in my head since last week, so maybe I'll be back sooner than you think with another go-round.
Ciao for now!