Time flies when you're having anxiety.

Certainly there's been no lack of activity about which to spew. The only thing lacking has been focus. There's been new life - including tiny pink feet and fuzzy soft pads. I've learned why claustrophobics might be wary of MRI machines, that "landing on your feet" doesn't always mean hitting the ground running, and, most importantly, being aware of what might happen in the future doesn't give you control over it.

And the only thing accomplished by worrying over tomorrow is a dangerous increase in blood pressure.

And the only thing accomplished by a dangerous increase in blood pressure might be an itty bitty teeny weeny spot on your right frontal lobe that might make the left side of your face go numb and your left arm go heavy and then you get to spend a night on the stroke floor of your local hospital waiting 10 hours for a speech therapist to okay your ability to eat and drink before you can have a graham cracker.

In a nutshell, since last we met I have a new puppy who thinks his name is "awwwww dammit" and a new grandson who has loose screws requiring repair.

This is nothing a plush drill couldn't fix.

and

I tried to add a banana for scale, but he ate it.

Ian doesn't really have a screw loose - and not just because Owen fixed it.

And the puppy's name isn't really "awwwwwww dammit." He's better known as "Bluedrift's Bold Zweite Liebe" or "Fezzik" to his friends.

And now that my head and heart are back in their assigned locations more posts will follow, rife with brow furrowing tales of Ian and his big brother Owen, and Fezzik the little brown soul-healing tank.